


Sing the Sorrow

by Demolitionxlover77



Series: Sing the Sorrow [1]
Category: AFI (Band), Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demolitionxlover77/pseuds/Demolitionxlover77
Summary: Bran discovers an interesting young woman, sent his way by none other than Mercedes Thompson, everyone's favorite coyote shifter.Lots of change is stirred up, inclusing the annual round up of those willing to trade their lives for a chance at some real magic by becoming werewolves of the Marrok's pack.
Relationships: Bran Cornick/Leah Cornick, Bran Cornick/Original Character(s), Charles Cornick/Anna Latham
Series: Sing the Sorrow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771996
Kudos: 15





	1. Miseria Cantare - The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This work is drastically different in terms of how I went about writing it. I am literally basing each chapter off of a track on an album by AFI entitled "Sing the Sorrow" and let me tell you, this is difficult. Back at it again with my girl, Tristan. I hope y'all don't get tired of her. 😅

1987  
Southern California  
"The blast radius seems to be about a quarter-mile in every direction," Charles spoke into the phone. Bran frowned, though Charles couldn't see it.   
"There are tracks to follow, too, Da," he finished, stopping the movement that Bran heard earlier. He expected no less of his youngest son, he was skilled in many things, among them finding those who did not wish to be found.   
"See what you can discover," Bran said and disconnected the line. It might have been nothing, but Bran had a feeling about this unusual case. It wasn't a typical thing they would investigate and take care of, but he was drawn to it still. 

+

Charles followed faint scents and footprints to the edge of a metropolitan seeming area that isn't Los Angeles. He isn't sure anyone else would have seen the footprints and he easily identified them as male and female, but the footwear is unusual for a couple that walked away from an impact as he had seen.   
There is also no reason for humans to suspect magic, though he detected faint traces of that as well. Not witches magic, exactly. Something akin to his mother’s magic, tied to the Earth or elements of some kind. Without finding the source he couldn't be sure, so he gave the crash site a wide berth.   
He was able to find the couple after scouring the suburban neighborhood adjacent to the golf club and downtown areas he had first explored nearest the crash. While they appeared to be human, he wasn't taking any chances. He watched from downwind and their scents gave almost nothing away. Almost.  
They were in a modest home around the table with another couple, apparently in a heated discussion. He was too far to hear what was said, especially with the doors and windows closed, but the air was finally becoming pleasant. The desert did not agree with him sometimes, and at the tail-end of a record-breaking summer, he was glad for the excuse to slip into the shadows and relish the cool breeze beginning to stir with the evenings’ approach. Brother Wolf had no insight for him, other than the couple clearly wasn't human. Something resonated within him with the females’ scent, but it wasn't important enough for either of them to pursue.   
The discussion was postponed when one of the women rose abruptly and went into another room, out of Charles's line of sight. He didn't have to wait long before she returned, a crying baby in her arms. Perhaps this was not the couple he had been trailing, but he had a feeling he would not be so lucky. If they had a child with them he would need to consider what the best plan of action would be, with an unknown and potential threat, he could not afford to leave anything to chance. 

+

Bran picked up his phone on the second ring, despite the late hour. He was still awake and considering what to have Charles do. A child was no threat, even a young gifted witch could be trained, but his inability to know how this witch might behave gave him pause. Even if it was a babe or a witch for that matter.  
"Da?" Charles asked. He was reluctant to harm a child without absolute proof there was no way to ensure everyone's safety. Bran felt the same.   
"Charles, we will check in from time to time. There is no immediate threat. Come home," Bran responded.   
He didn't hear the small intake of breath so much as feel it as Charles steadied himself.   
"What about the others?"  
"There is nothing we can do. They seem fixated on their own kind…whatever that is. The humans involved are unfortunate, but we are not prepared for the outcome of the public being made aware. We can monitor from a distance," Bran sighed. He heard Charles hang up, sure he would be home within the next 12 hours.   
This hadn't been a long trip for Charles. It had been a busy one. Three separate crash sites littered the Joshua Tree National Park, one of which was close to the neighboring community of Indio. That was the initial site Charles had been sent to investigate, the one in which he picked up the faint scent of Earth magic.   
There were still more questions rather than answers, but for the time being, it seemed there was no threat and no cause for alarm. So why did Bran feel that the other shoe still had to drop? No matter, Charles would return and they could discuss at length what he had found and where they may end up in the future.

+

"What changed?" Bran's tone gave nothing away, but Charles was certain there was a note of anxiety hidden in its depths.   
"Before I could return the vehicle I drove by to ensure our visitors hadn't left. The house was engulfed in flames," Charles reported. He had a feeling, getting to the bottom of this would prove more difficult than either of them expected. Bran waited in the silence, knowing there was only a little more Charles could add.  
"The first responders believe it was accidental and they found remains of two adults. I was unable to find out which adults the remains belonged to, or where the child has gone."  
Charles waited for Bran to decide the next move. This new development set them back even further and added more complications if they chose to look for answers. A commotion rose as more charred pieces of the building were moved. Charles caught three words, "It's a baby."  
He didn’t need to be on the phone to hear Bran’s silent command, come home, now. There was nothing that could prove any magic was at play, no one to lay blame to. There was nowhere a witch could have hidden from Charles that he wouldn't have sensed any black magic and followed it to the source. So why did this feel like it could be the beginning?


	2. The Leaving Song Pt II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan running from her problems, and being unsure of herslef, beginning toward the middle/end of where I see this story going. Time jump back to Tristan going to Aspen creek for help, thinking she isn't worth helping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention in the first chapter, this is also unbetad. I do not own most of these characters. All the errors in this work/chapter are mine alone. I do not own rights to any of the music I am using as my chapter titles, but they are an amazing band. R&R and thanks for the scraps you give me.

The Leaving Song Pt II  
Aspen Creek, Montana - Winter 2019  
Tristan was still running, after ten years of it, she thought she would have been better at hiding by now. Even from the one person that might be able to help her, save her even. Except you had to want to be helped or be saved, and she had already given up hope that it was possible.   
A weak melody reached her ears, though she needed to strain to hear it; another slice of proof that she could not survive this life without some drastic changes. It was melancholy and mournful, and a voice she was trying not to remember. A voice she wished wasn't capable of working magic on her. Bran was calling her back, hoping she would listen. They both knew she wouldn't. To keep everyone in this place safe she needed to leave - there were some things even the Marrok could not protect from. 

+

Aspen Creek, Montana - Fall 2019  
It was much colder than she expected, but growing up in the California desert she wasn't used to colder climes. Washington had some beautiful desert-like landscape that reminded her of home, but if she was being honest this was more likely the place she would be able to find help. Mercy had assured her that the Marrok wouldn't turn her away unless he knew of a more capable teacher, and with her luck, Tristan would be sent packing in the next few hours instead of days.  
She parked the rental car in front of the only motel in sight and looked for the front desk. She thought it would have been easy to see, even from the few parking spaces lined up in front of each room.  
"Check in's this way," a young man with sandy blonde hair said, tapping her window and startling her. She drew in a breath and nodded, trying to remind herself that this was supposed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere homely and welcoming unless you were a threat to their imminent survival. She wasn't sure if she fit that description, she would have to see if this Marrok deemed her not a threat. She believed she was - that she could be. She hadn't done anything yet, no reason to get up in arms about something that hasn't happened.  
Opening the door she stretched her legs and stepped out. She gave a bright smile to the newcomer and closed the door, walking around the front of the car.   
"Thanks!" She chirped. "I've never been here before…which was probably obvious since you came to tell me how to get a room." Tristan's cheeks heated in mild embarrassment but she smiled brighter to cover it.   
"Clearly," the young man said. "We're glad to have you, regardless. Did you choose this time of year for a reason?"  
A thought tickled at the back of her mind, trying to breakthrough. Fall, harvest time. Mercy had said it would be busy, but with such extreme outbursts, there would likely be an exception made for her. She just had to remember why it would be busy.   
"A friend recommended it to me, said she grew up here, mostly."  
"Hmmmm," the stranger pondered her answer but began walking around the set of rooms to the larger, but still inconspicuous front desk. There were plenty of other vehicles but she had presumed they were for late-season hikers and nature lovers. Unless they wanted to attempt the change. Oh.  
"Oh! Um I just realized, " she began frantically, trying to make clear she wasn't attempting something the others visiting the small community were likely hopeful would change their lives, if they survived it.  
"You probably think I'm here to become a were-to um, change myself. I am, just not like that," she stumbled over her words. Explaining things had never been a strong suit, and it became apparent the more she was in the presence of people she did not know.   
The stranger gave a quizzical look but made no comment. Simply held the door open for her and followed her into the office. He greeted the young girl sitting there working on homework, textbooks strewn about every horizontal surface.   
"Hello, Kara," he said, conversational tone hiding the power in his voice. The girl immediately straightened up and came to attention, tidying up her mess and flashing a smile to Tristan in a 'please forgive me I'll get you settled in a room asap' kind of panic.   
"Don't get all fussed over me," Tristan began. "I've got time, so finish up if you're almost done."  
Kara smiled and said, "I would, but I've also been told not to be rude to our guests, how long will you be staying?"  
"Well see, that's my problem, I don't really know. I guess I'll start with two nights, and see if the road takes me anywhere, " Tristan responded.  
Kara stared from Tristan to the stranger that had escorted her, and back. She nodded and began grabbing papers from under what Tristan assumed was the counter before the stranger shook his head, firmly and turned to Tristan.   
"What friend did you say directed you here?" He asked.   
"I didn't."  
"It wouldn't be one Mercedes Thompson-Hauptman, would it?"  
Tristan paled but didn't respond, she figured her bodily reaction was proof enough, but just in case she nodded. Mercy said these people were nice. Well, nice-ish.  
The stranger made a face, and maybe someone that knew him would have been able to interpret it, but the look was lost on Tristan. She pursed her lips, suddenly dreading the encounter she had yet to make.  
"If you intend to stay, might I recommended my place?" Was he kidding? He barely looked legal, let alone the fact Tristan hadn't even been introduced properly.  
"No offense, kid, but I didn't come here to fool around. Besides, if I wanted sex, it wouldn't be in mommy's basement watching made for TV horror flicks with cheap beer," Tristan retorted.   
There was no sound of movement but the silence was broken by peals of laughter coming from Kara. Both Tristan and the stranger turned to look at her but she had hidden her face, gasping for air and turning an alarming purple color when she couldn't stop long enough to breathe.   
"Kara," the stranger said softly. "Kara, that's enough."  
The young girl immediately stops her laughing fit and regains her composure. She lifts her head, her face still a shade of red from the smiling that comes with fits of laughter.   
"Wow," she starts. "You sure don't know what you're getting yourself into." She looks at Tristan and grins before lowering her eyes, showing to any who knew that she was a werewolf. That, and she was either submissive or she was being polite since most humans became uncomfortable with direct eye contact. Except Tristan wasn't like most, and she certainly wasn't human either. Then what did that make the kid standing across from her who was blocking her exit?  
"I'm normally much busier during this time, as I imagine you are well aware. If Mercedes sent you to me, there must be a reason," the stranger stated.   
"If? Sent me to you? Let's back up a minute. Who are you?" Tristan asked, fearing she already knew the answer. If she was right, it was unsettling and downright creepy.   
"My name is Bran Cornick, and I am the Marrok. And who might you be?" He threw right back.   
"I'm - my name is Tristan Taylor. I met Mercy a few years ago before she got married. I'm glad she remembered me, I wasn't counting on having any help at all. I -" she didn't finish. "I haven't had a solid place to stay in a while and she is too nice for her own good. Besides, she has people to protect, and I need places to disappear," Tristan said.   
She hadn't wanted to cause Mercy any problems and she had a pack of werewolves to keep her safe. Just not safe while Tristan was around. No one was really safe with Tristan around.   
"Well, this is certainly a good place to lose yourself, Tristan. My question is why you would want to be lost?"   
Bran made it sound like more of a statement but Tristan only knew she couldn't speak around just anyone. Even if some of them appeared to be just out of high school. She also knew she couldn't refuse to answer, not if she wanted help and to keep those around her safe.   
"I have my reasons, ones that I would feel better about fewer people hearing, no offense, Kara. You just seem so young, and I wouldn't want to draw you into my problems. You deserve a chance to enjoy the mistakes you make while you’re young. You are, you know, young?" Tristan asked to clarify. Mercy had told her Bran was old, like really old, but he looked like he could be 18, easy.   
"She is young," Bran answered for her. "I appreciate your concern for the youngest member of my pack, but she is my responsibility."  
Bran turned to Kara and said, "No paperwork today, unless another family shows up. So far we have 17 petitions."   
Kara nods and puts the papers back under the counter, sitting down and focusing on the nearly forgotten homework still strewn about the office. Bran turns around and walks out the door, holding it expectantly for Tristan to follow. She does, but warily.  
"So, should we take my car?" Bran only smiles and silently directs Tristan to lead the way, inevitably placing himself in the passenger seat. Even if this was a five-minute drive, it was likely to be disastrous. At least Mercy had the foresight to mention getting a vehicle with all-wheel drive.


	3. Bleed Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan and Bran hit...something off. Leah intervenes, the change takes place. Tristan suffers from, and works through PTSD and childhood trauma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, R&R throw me a line. I own almost nothing. I adore these characters and the music that has been my muse for this project. Thanks for reading.

Tristan had never expected to be driving a werewolf to his home or to be driving in backwoods Montana either. To say she was unprepared for the tense grinding of Bran’s jaw and sharp intakes of breath with every turn was being polite. What would have taken Bran seven minutes at the most took them 20 instead.   
Between Tristan's inability to navigate country roads or problem solve, and Bran’s distinct and purposeful lack of help, they nearly drove off the side of the mountain, came close to hitting several trees, and almost had a head-on collision with Anna and Charles in his son's truck. Anna had openly stared, as the only Omega in the pack she didn't fall into the hierarchy with the rest of the wolves. Charles had stared too, but Bran paid no mind to either of them. The pair finally arrived, disgruntled and irritable. As Bran stepped around the vehicle and openly gawked at the parking job, a door opened behind him.   
"Another guest?" Asked a tall, lean woman with angular features and shoulder-length strawberry blonde reddish hair.  
"Courtesy of Mercedes," Bran replied cooly, brokering no room for arguments. The woman clenched her jaw but said nothing, instead turned back into the house and closed the door to keep the heat inside. Tristan watched the exchange with anxious curiosity but didn't say a word.   
"My wife and mate," he explained curtly. "Leah."  
"Uh-huh. She seems…nice."  
Bran grinned. Even he had no illusions about how his wife was received by most, and that she was oftentimes ill-mannered and coarse. That didn't mean she was allowed any disrespect.   
"It's mature of you to be so kind, without having met her properly or gotten to know her. She can be difficult at times," Bran said softly. "I appreciate your civility."   
Tristan colored slightly. "I don't know her or anything that has shaped her into who she is. I have no place to judge," she responded. Everyone had something they weren't proud of, even if they didn't realize it. She knew better than most. She wouldn't hold it against Leah, no matter how unkind it seemed she could be.  
Dinner was tense, and the following days weren't much better, as the full moon approached, tensions ran high. Tristan kept to herself, mainly locked in the guest bedroom Bran had shown her to, listening in during meals and the few times she ventured beyond the bedroom. She hadn't made an effort to know anyone, including Bran because she felt out of place and knew all of the people crammed into this house and the little motel down the mountain were here for a specific purpose. They all wanted to become werewolves. 

+

Tristan approached Bran’s study. It was one of only two rooms, three if you considered the master bathroom, that no one but Bran or Leah entered without explicit permission and direction. The door was open and she could see him sitting at his desk, mutely stirring a cup of coffee and reading something on a computer screen.   
The first snow had fallen the night she arrived, and she knew the season was late, and snow was expected. Still, she couldn't help but feel it was a sign of her being here. That she had brought it on before it may have naturally happened. The way she sometimes did when her emotions took a toll and became too much for her to handle all at once. 'Positive thoughts,' she reminded herself. She was here for help, not self-pity.   
"It usually is a bad thing," Bran mused. "When someone stands so long at my door before making themselves known or asking to enter."  
His words startled Tristan out of her thoughts and she jumped slightly.   
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to linger," she apologized.   
"I meant to come and tell you, maybe this isn't the place for me to be. You all seem so busy, and there is a lot going on here. Maybe I should head out and find what I'm looking for elsewhere."  
Tristan braced for a lecture or some stern words. The only thing that met her ears was silence accompanied by the slow, even breathing of herself and Bran. She looked over to him but didn't meet his eyes. His composure was flawless, not a wrinkle on his face to give away age or worry, no visible indication anything was amiss. Just the raw aura of power that sometimes emanated from him when he wanted to make his presence known, or was on the verge of losing control.   
"If that is the case, I'll drive you down to the motel. I'm not sure mountain roads freshly covered in snow would agree with you," he told her matter-of-factly.   
She gave a curt nod, agreeing with his assessment. She wasn't too keen on leaving while it could be snowing but if things were about to be in some state of upheaval with people becoming werewolves or dying - the change being one of the most dangerous endeavors of someone's existence in that you must be torn apart in the hope you will become something new - she didn't feel there would be a place for her to learn much. Patience aside, she needed to learn control, and among werewolves was as good a place as any to learn that.   
"I hear you humming before you fall asleep."  
It was a statement as much as a question. Tristan tried to ignore it, but when she turned to walk back to the bedroom and pack, a hand shot out to stop her.   
"Sit with me, and we'll discuss what options you have," Bran said. It was a command, that was apparent. But she didn't feel compelled to follow it, only slightly guilty thinking of running and hiding in the guest room.   
"How can you-" Tristan stopped herself short. "Werewolves have enhanced senses, even when they're human." She silently kicked herself for not realizing it sooner. A blush rose and tinted her cheeks all the way to her hairline. If Bran had heard, anyone else that was a werewolf had also heard. Embarrassment washed over her.   
"There is no need to feel embarrassed, I'm sure you have a pleasant voice hidden under the humming," Bran smiled. It was a backhanded compliment she thought. Her voice was fair enough, but she was no Beyoncé or Adele. It wasn't something she shared with most.  
"What kind of options do you seem to think I have?" Tristan asked Bran, abruptly and obviously changing the subject.   
"Where were you planning on going? Is there another group of people you might seek refuge with?" He put unusual emphasis on the word people.  
"I'm sorry?" Tristan said, confused. "What kind of people would I go to? Tibetan monks?"  
"Perhaps. Did you have a plan for where you were going or what you needed to do in that time?"  
This was beginning to sound more like an interrogation than a friendly chat to cross-reference resources.   
"No," she ground out. "I hadn't given it much thought. But I'm starting to," she spat. Without knowing how, they had migrated into the study and were sitting across from each other, a rich cherry wood desk between them.   
"How the-"  
A knock on the now-closed door startled her just as deeply. If she hadn't felt like she was under an investigation she would have been terrified.   
"Da, I looked over the ledgers and noticed some unusual transactions that I wanted to clear with-" Charles stopped, noticing the intrusion he was making and choosing to keep the pack finances from the ears of an outsider.   
"Never mind, I'll go over it with you later, Da," he said before backing out and closing the door.   
Bran sighed deeply and the atmosphere in the study changed. It was no longer stifling and charged. Instead, it felt like she imagined any father’s study would, comfortable and homey.   
"That was my son, Charles. He has many roles within the pack, among them is being my second and overseeing the financial side of things," Bran was making conversation to ease the distress clearly written all over Tristan's face.   
"Is everyone close to you always so stoic and cold?"  
She hadn't meant to ask the question aloud, and slapped a hand over her mouth, once more filling with embarrassment, this time from spoken words instead of some sleepy tune.   
Bran chuckled a bit but didn't answer her.   
"Did you do this to me?" That time she knew what was coming out of her mouth, though she wasn't expecting an outright answer. A quirked brow proceeded Bran speaking.   
"I haven't laid a hand on you," he answered honestly.   
"Well, obviously, but do you have to be so unsettling? I didn't even feel myself move past the door or sit down. Unless you have creepy mind-controlling abilities, I don't have an explanation for why I'm sitting in this chair," she said a little frantically.   
Bran didn't answer the question her statement posed. Instead, he frowned and repeated, "Creepy mind-controlling abilities," quietly to himself with a small smile.   
"This isn't funny, no one in their right minds would find this funny," Tristan says, her voice hitching with a hint of fear.  
Bran pretends not to notice, instead, gathering some papers from a drawer and placing them neatly in front of himself. From across the desk, Tristan can't really see what the papers are.   
Bran looks up at her and says, "This is the entirety of what Charles was able to gather on you, most people your age leave quite an impression and set of tracks to follow."  
Tristan's eyes widen but she doesn't speak. Bran can hear her heart rate jump. He meets her eyes and a battle breaks out, one between their wills with Tristan daring Bran to call her out and Bran daring her to continue hiding.   
Bran sighs.  
"There are only three pages, the majority is of your high school records, and your disappearance," he elaborates in hopes of getting her to talk when Tristan finally looks away. The tense moments between these statements give Bran pause, no one but Leah, and Mercedes, have ever challenged him so openly and so successfully.   
He gives Tristan another stern look as he turns the pages to face her and slides them across the sleek wood. She gives them a glance but doesn't pick them up or even read the first page. A sure sign to Bran that she has seen it before or knows what information is in them, has likely fabricated some of it herself.   
"I dislike secrets, Tristan. I've tolerated your silence because Mercedes sent you, but I have plenty more to deal with, as I'm sure you've noticed," he clears his throat to draw her attention back instead of allowing her to retreat within herself.   
"You are free to leave, but I would suggest you stay until the change has taken place. I won't have time until then to escort you, but it will also be safer for you to travel if that is your intention."  
Tristan gives a firm nod then quirks her head in a fashion so similar to his Mercedes, it is uncanny.   
"Do you love Mercy? I couldn't help but hear the fondness in your voice when you speak of her," Tristan asks off-hand as if she isn't interested in the answer. The question catches Bran off guard. He had never seen it that way, but Mercedes was his. She always had been, as his…child? She had certainly come into his life as one in need of care.  
"I'll stay," Tristan announces. "But no more snooping on me. My old life can stay where it is, it’s safer for everyone that way. If you want to know what I’m hiding from we can talk, later."   
Bran stares at her and takes in what she is saying but is still hopelessly lost in the previous question he doesn't realize he has dismissed her until she has passed through the hall and he hears the spare room door click shut.  
She is certainly an interesting person, but interesting doesn't mean good. Bran stays in his study until dinner and comes only to socialize with the pack and gathered guests as is expected of a good host.   
Tristan makes a brief appearance only to eat and head directly back to the spare room. 

+

Two nights later the pack meets, leaving the Marrok's house deserted. This is the night when new wolves will be made, and some will not return to their families or the lives they once led. While the last sentiment was something Tristan was not a fan of, she was without the ability to change it. At least she could use the kitchen without being stared at or listened in on by everyone who had invaded the space recently.   
Finally, a meal she could make herself, and no audience. As she went through the fridge and pantry she gathered ingredients. She heard a door open and close and stopped short, waiting to hear another sound, knowing she would be hard-pressed to catch any werewolf off guard.  
Tristan set down what was in her arms, tensing up before she realized what she was doing. A tall lean figure entered the doorway to the kitchen, hair a mess from the breeze shifting the bare tree branches outside and moving patches of moonlight across the room. Leah. Not someone she would have hoped for on her best day, but certainly someone she was unenthusiastic about seeing, even if this was her kitchen.  
"Helping yourself to my kitchen, now?" Leah asks bitingly. She doesn't give Tristan a chance to respond before assaulting her with another query.   
"Did Mercedes send you to stir up trouble for her? Was taking Adam for a mate not good enough, she had to go after my mate? That’s why she sent you."  
The accusations stung, but Tristan didn't respond to them, Leah had made up her mind and anything Tristan said would neither help nor convince her otherwise. The set of her jaw and the glint in her eyes was proof enough that Leah wanted Tristan gone by whatever means necessary. Just as Leah began to stalk toward Tristan with malice in her gait, the door opened again, this time a clear, bright voice drifted through the house.   
"Leah, are you home? I was thinking about some events we could put together as a community, really get people to feel like we are there for each other-" footsteps sounded as the voice drew further into the house and closer to the women standing in the kitchen.  
"-if that seems reasonable to you," finished Anna. The Omega wolf - Charles' mate. They had been introduced once, but it was brief and Tristan didn't know much about her.  
"Anna," Leah responded icily.  
"Leah," was the cheerful response from Anna.  
"And your name was Tristan, wasn't it? Oh, were you making some food?" She asked Tristan pointedly. Leah gave a dramatic sigh but pulled back and shifted her stance, dropping into something that appeared to be more neutral with Annas’s appearance.   
"Yes," Tristan began. "But if it will be too much trouble I don't have to make any food right now."  
She wasn't surprised, with their fast metabolism all werewolves honed in on food almost as soon as it was in their line of sight. It would be comical if it wasn't so intense sometimes.  
"Nonsense," Anna spoke swiftly. "What were you going to make?"  
"Just some French toast, pretty simple and not fancy," Tristan responded.   
"French toast?" The tone was sardonic and harsh, coming from Leah.   
"It's eight o'clock in the evening, who would want a sugary sweet breakfast food then?"  
"I would," Tristan said sullenly. It was the last meal she planned on having since she intended to leave in the morning while everyone else recuperated and tended to the dead. She had no intention of enjoying such luxury while she was on the run again, off somewhere new.  
Anna fixed her with a stare she couldn't quite read. Anna slid across the kitchen to inspect what Tristan had inadvertently stood in front of and cocked her head to the side.  
"What else do you need?" She asked Tristan, inspecting the ingredients on the countertop. Leah scoffed and threw her hands up.  
"You can clean up your own mess, don't expect me to do it for you," she spat and stormed off into the master bedroom down the hall. Tristan and Anna shared a glance.  
"Cinnamon. Ground cinnamon and vanilla," Tristan said, at last, releasing the breath she hadn't known she was holding.   
Anna bounced around the kitchen in a familiar way and opened up cabinets Tristan hadn't checked before announcing, "Found them!"  
"Thank you," Tristan tells Anna softly. "Really, thank you."  
"Look, I know Leah can really get under most people's skin, but you don't have to listen to everything she says. Believe me, I push her buttons too," Anna responds.   
"Don't sweat it, I'm sure that you'll be fine," she adds.  
The two settle into an assembly line of work, mixing eggs and ingredients together and prepping a frying pan to cook up their post-dinner meal.  
As they make yet another heaping plate of toast, the door opens again, and Anna’s head snaps up. A dreamy grin washes across her face and Tristan glances behind herself to see Charles taking up the doorway. She gives a curt nod and continues flipping toast and adding new slices to the plate beside her.  
"Charles, come sit. Eat with us, we're almost done here," Anna says, depositing plates on the table adjacent to the kitchen. The dining room overlooks the deck just outside the back door.  
Charles lifts an eyebrow but takes a seat after retrieving butter and syrup from the kitchen and some utensils for the three of them to eat with. He sits with his back to the only wall available, a trained predator, always looking to have the upper hand. Anna sits across from him and Tristan sits at the end of the table, back to the door leading to the deck outside.   
"This is really good, Tristan, " Anna compliments as she takes another bite, trailing syrup across the plate before her. Charles mumbles something unintelligible to Tristan but she smiles anyway. The tone seemed to imply the food isn't awful.   
"How do you get the flavor to blend together?" Anna asks her.  
"It's difficult, because the cinnamon really wants to take over everything, but the vanilla mellows it out," Tristan responds after swallowing the mouthful of toast.   
"You see, eggs are a savory dish, and French toast takes that idea and kind of turns it on its head. You need some salt and pepper to balance out all the sweetness because you are already going to put more sweetness on top of it. Adding cinnamon just gives it a little extra flair, and gives your arm a work-out trying to keep it from floating to the top of your egg batter," Tristan says after taking a drink of water between talking and eating.  
Anna giggles and Charles’s face stops looking so intimidating, causing a smile to break out and light up the room from Tristan. She giggles with Anna and they begin to swap stories about Mercy and her cooking skills.  
Tristan notices Charles's demeanor change a little, but she thinks nothing of it. It’s gotten to be late, nearly 10 o'clock at night and she still needs to clean up the kitchen before she turns in for sleep. The door behind her opens and someone walks through, mid-laugh escaping from Tristan as Anna finished telling her about how Mercy had pranked Bran with peanut butter on the seat of his pants. A set of hands come down on Tristan’s shoulders. She could feel the power vibrating through them, and knew instantly who was behind her, even before they spoke.  
"Getting to know one another better?" Asked the man behind Tristan. She wasn’t sure who the question was directed at but she answered anyway, eliciting a look she knew didn't get used much from Charles.  
"Chit-chatting and sharing stories," she offered up.  
"I see," Bran said, moving from behind her to sit beside Charles.   
"Is there any more food?" He asked casually. From the look Anna was giving this was a normal thing inside the pack, but no one was afforded this treatment outside of it - except Mercy.  
"In the oven," Tristan responded. "I was just getting ready to clean up, but I can fix a plate up if you'd like some."  
It's as much a challenge as a legitimate offer from Tristan. Food is the currency of community, of friendship, pack, and lovers. Even if you do not intend it, food communicates a lot to those who pay attention to it.  
"I would appreciate a plate, Tristan. Thank you," Bran answers her challenge with one of his own.  
Tristan gathers the dishes from the table and leaves the toppings there as she empties her arms in the kitchen sink. Charles and Anna rise from their seats, Anna to help in the kitchen and Charles ready to leave.   
"Did you need any help?" Anna asks Tristan.   
"I've got it," she answers confidently. "There isn't too much mess to clean up anyway."  
Charles asks, "What of those who did not turn?"  
"Asil and Tag helped me after you and I took them for their first run," Bran answers. Charles nods and looks to Anna who seems torn between staying and leaving with Charles.  
"She's safe with me, Anna," Bran chides. His tone is soft but his eyes tell Charles there could be trouble. He pulls up beside Anna before Bran shakes his head ever so slightly, making it look like he was simply moving hair away from his eyes.   
Tristan returns breaking up the exchange she was unaware of with a plate piled with the last of the French toast, fork, and knife in her other hand wrapped in a napkin. She places the plate in front of Bran unceremoniously, plopping the knife and fork down next to it.   
"We only used butter and syrup, I'm not sure if there is anything else in the kitchen that constitutes as a topping for French toast, but that's what we have out," she tells him, walking back into the kitchen and beginning to clean the counter and stove while the sink fills with water for the other dishes.  
Charles and Anna leave after that, not wanting to alarm Tristan or get in the way of whatever Bran was plotting. Bran eats the food, collects his plate and utensils, and the toppings from the table. He walks into the kitchen silently and stands behind Tristan waiting to see how long it takes her to realize he is there.   
She turns to put a plate in the dish drainer and jumps, seeing Bran behind her. She drops the plate and it breaks as it hits the floor, making a loud, dissonant sound after the quiet humming Tristan had begun while she cleaned.   
She reflexively turns to face Bran and springs into a fighting stance, despite the small quarters and lack of knowledge about her opponent. Bran steps back holding the dishes and toppings up as a display of good faith. Tristan's eyes widen in shock and she pulls herself back, blushing madly and avoiding Bran’s eyes as she drops to clean up the broken pieces, gathering them together to throw in the trash.  
"I'm sorry," she blurts out, more embarrassed than she has been before in Bran’s presence.   
"It's quite alright," he tells her, placing what was in his hands on the counter to stoop and help her clean up.  
"What now?" A caustic voice resonates down the hall. Leah walks into the kitchen, noting the broken plate and two people bending over it in an attempt to clean it up and remove the shards from the kitchen floor.  
"Oh, so now you're breaking my dishes?" Leah scoffs at Tristan but doesn't push the matter.   
"Not her fault, dear," Bran says. He isn't exactly defending Tristan, but the way it comes out makes Leah bristle, irritated and unable to do anything about it.  
"I startled her," he clarifies. "Skittish as a kitten, this one is."  
Leah rolls her eyes but doesn't comment on the statement. "Will you be coming to bed soon?" She asks Bran pointedly.   
"I'll be there shortly," he responds curtly. The conversation is going nowhere. Go back to bed. The intent is clearly written in how he says it, even if Tristan was unaware of it.  
"It's fine, my mess to clean up," Tristan says with a chagrined tone. "I should expect to be surprised more often staying with werewolves."  
She gathers more pieces of the broken plate and Leah sighs in exasperation, walking back to the bedroom and shutting the door. Bran stands but doesn't leave. Instead, he puts his dishes in the sink with the rest and puts the butter and syrup away while Tristan sweeps up the smaller pieces, checking every corner so she doesn't miss any. Leah would never let her live it down if she did.   
"Don't leave in the morning," Bran tells her as he walks to the door.   
"I know you feel that you aren't getting anywhere just waiting like this," he adds. "I can assure you there will be help for you. Just be patient."  
Bran doesn't notice the set of Tristan's shoulders or the blank stare that has taken over her eyes. He does notice the rise in her heart-rate and the acrid, sour scent of fear mixed with anxiety.   
"You don't have to be afraid of me, Tristan," Bran says, trying to assuage her fears. Nothing he said should have thrown her into the state she seemed to be in.   
"Good night," he murmurs, barely loud enough for Tristan to hear him. She finishes cleaning the dishes and kitchen until it seems immaculate. When she is satisfied she won't be killed for harming any of Leah's property, she goes to the spare room and locks the door. She had only just managed to keep herself from acting out, hearing words that had reinforced something in her formative years that never should have taken place.   
Inside her mind is a desolate place that she hopes people never get a chance to see. Inside, she hides the memories of things no child should experience but were still the things that formed her psyche into the fragile mess it was.  
Thoughts of him were never a good sign, and she knew she had to get out as soon as possible. These thoughts would only lead him to find her sooner. She had to stop before she broke something, and revealed what she was capable of. Until she knew Bran or some other member of his pack would be able to help her control what lay dormant inside, the power she possessed, and the control she could take if it was unleashed.   
Her brother would be the death of her and he wasn't even present. Tristan did some slow breathing and focused on where she was, pushing her fear to the back of her mind. She may wake in a cold sweat from nightmares tonight, but she would win the battle now. She was in control. At least, she hoped she was.


	4. Silver and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bran begins to see Tristan in a different light, Leah is not pleased. Cut to leaving song pt 2 beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you enjoy. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone-still unbetad. Thanks for reading!

Morning came and with it the swift relief of making it through yet another day. Tristan knew this was no way to live, even if you were prone to mental instability. Still, it was how she had survived.  
Thoughts became muddled and she didn't hear the knock on the door, or a voice telling her there was food waiting in the kitchen, so it would be warm. Thoughts were dangerous creatures, never entirely true or false. Speculation and fears and little things you could get stuck focusing on. Like memories better left forgotten. Memories that threatened the newfound peace she had become so fond of in the last few months on the move.   
Tristan sighed and removed herself from the bed, dressing before leaving the room. She went to the kitchen and found food, unsure if it was meant for her or not. She took as little as she could, just in case, and ate in a fashion more becoming of a werewolf than a human. As she finished and cleaned up what she had used, Bran watched from the doorway. Before she can turn around he makes some noise, so he doesn't startle her.  
"You can have more, you know," he says plainly. Food was not a commodity to be stored up and used in frugality. It was necessary to life.  
Tristan was still caught slightly off guard and tried to hide it. Tight shoulders and stiff movements did nothing to disguise the tension brimming just beneath the surface.   
"I wasn't sure the food was entirely for me," she began, turning to face Bran. Defiance was clear in the set of her jaw and the glint of her eyes, but Bran was puzzled as to why she would feel that way in the first place.   
"It most certainly was. We may have larger portions than most, but we don't expect you to starve yourself to leave food for everyone here," Bran iterated. He thought it had been clear she was allowed what anyone else was, even if she could not consume the same amount.   
Tristan only shrugged and drew in a breath. She wasn’t sure about how open to be with a pack of werewolves surrounding her. She had friends she considered family and family she missed so dearly it hurt to think of them.  
"Mercy told me what you did. For her, and Adam, I mean," she blurted out, darting her eyes to gauge the nonreaction Bran showed. She may as well have made the statement to herself she thought dryly.   
"That would be what?" Bran asked, a curious tone in his voice.   
"You helped her find a way to save her relationship. To begin fixing it from the inside and show Adam how much she cares," Tristan clarified with a puzzled look upon her face.   
"Ahhh, that," Bran responds. "She called me for advice on many things taking place recently. She talked with you about it?"  
Tristan narrowed her eyes just a little.   
"Yes. Briefly," she agreed.   
Bran walked to the table and sat, a glass of juice in hand that Tristan hadn't seen before. It was half gone, so it was likely she just hadn't paid attention to it before now. She watched Bran, silently drinking juice, watching her take in his morning activities, and contemplating what to say to him. The silence between them was thick and heavy, making Tristan uncomfortable. Finally, she grabbed some more food, a glass of water, and marched to the table to sit.   
"I don't know everything, and I don't want to know everything about their situation. But hearing that you could give advice to her that was helpful, and all it took her was a phone call?" Tristan mused, an air of awe stringing through her voice.   
She cleared her throat.   
"Anyway," she said, more centered and focused on the point she was trying to make. "I thought you might be able to help me learn some more control. That and possibly give some guidance on dealing with personal demons."  
Bran lifted his head and met her eyes. He nodded once as if considering the possibility. He finished the juice and set the glass on the table between them.   
"What makes you think I would be willing to help you?" Bran asks her, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He isn't sure he is entirely qualified, but then again being as old as he was, perhaps he could be helpful to her.   
Tristan huffs, chagrined. She didn't want to explain herself but she knew eventually she would have no choice. Better to get it out of the way and see if she would still be welcome, instead of pushing it further out and causing more trouble than she thought she was worth.   
"I have a strange and unusual past," Tristan expressed. "One that I know is catching up to me faster than I would like."  
This piqued Bran’s interest but he remained silent taking in the information she revealed like tiny trinkets to store away for future reference.   
"You see, I have an affinity for water, particularly ice. I can manipulate it," she ventured, unsure of how to proceed. Bran was little help in her decision, pretending he wasn't really listening.   
"I can make it do whatever I want, down to the molecule. Just watch," Tristan motioned as she dipped two fingers into the glass of water she had brought to the table. Lifting them out she created a trail behind the fingers and drew a happy face in the air, water straining to fulfill its natural purpose and drop to the table. She sucked in a breath and pushed the water back into her glass, causing it to ripple and slowly still before her.   
Bran was at full attention with her display and his eyes flashed a pale gold, like the tail end of a harvest moon. He stayed seated but it seemed like a struggle of his will to keep himself there. When his voice crept from his lips it had a Welsh lilt to it, and a growl seemed to follow closely behind.   
"Witch," he spat with venom laced through the beautiful Welsh accent.   
"Leave, now, or I will kill you," Bran speaks and it’s difficult for Tristan to understand because it doesn't sound like the backwoods Montana accent she had become accustomed to.   
"I'm not a witch," Tristan defends herself. "Not in the way you're talking about."  
Bran had used the pack bonds to bring Charles up to the house, she realized too late, as hard hands grip her upper arms and make it impossible to move without hurting herself or breaking furniture.   
"Please, just hear me out okay?" She asks plaintive and subdued. "Mercy wouldn't send me all the way up here, by myself I might add, with the intention of killing me because it would be suicide to come and rock the foundations of the earth that way. If she thought I was a bad person or something that would make you have this kind of reaction," Tristan says trying to wave around the room, forgetting Charles is holding her in place.   
"She wouldn't be my friend or someone I trusted so much. She wouldn't have allowed me to cause trouble for you unless she thought it was worth it. Right?"  
At this Charles grunted, but Tristan couldn't discern if that was an affirmation of her words or an effort to keep her in place, though she wasn't struggling. She could see that Bran appeared to be considering her words. He gave his head a shake and his eyes cleared back to the hazel they were only a few moments before. They met Tristan's icy blue eyes, and he nodded at Charles.   
Tristan felt the hands release her and she rubbed her arms slightly, more upset by the statement of 'I will kill you' than being held in place. If Mercy had thought this was the safest place for her, then she would stay where she was. If she was still welcomed, that was.  
"Before we delve further into this," Bran began. "I'd like to know why Mercedes thought this was a wise decision for you, and why she felt it would not be a fruitless effort to reveal this sooner?"  
The question prickled but Bran had every right to be upset and exploit the foolishness of her plan to wait. Still, she felt there was no good time to bring up why she was here, and she felt like she was trying to schedule a meeting with the president instead of someone that could be a help or a mentor to her.   
"Well, it's been one hectic ride," Tristan floundered.   
"Yes, this might have been avoided if I'd done this earlier, but you are all so busy, full of things to do every waking moment. I feel like I've been thrown into a secretary position at a law firm in a metropolitan city with no background or experience of how to do my job. Do I leave a note? Do I barge into an office for an impromptu meeting? Do I schedule myself in for the third week in February? I have no idea how to talk to any of you, and I don't want to impose. But I was sent here for a reason and I'll be damned if I don't try to follow through," Tristan told them both, feeling put on the spot even if she was responsible for part of the problem.   
Bran sighed and looked at Charles.   
"Grab Anna, would you please?"  
"They do seem to get on fine," Charles spoke. It was the most Tristan thought she had heard from him at all but she made no comment.   
"So, it’s all hands on deck?" Tristan asked.   
"Not quite," Bran responded. His tone was short and clipped.   
"Well, maybe I should come clean about all of my past," Tristan said sheepishly.   
"It's a bit of a doozy."  
Charles extracted his phone from a pocket and called Anna telling her to meet them in Bran's study and hung up.   
Simultaneously Bran and Charles focused their gazes on her, and she felt what it meant to be prey once more. She shivered and looked down, trying to soothe the beasts she was caught between without causing any more trouble.   
"We'll head to the study now," Bran determined, leading the way.   
As he entered the room he went straight to the fireplace along the farther wall. He bent and began to stack kindling and logs into the fireplace and struck a long match, moving it across the bottom of the logs where the kindling was to start the fire.   
"That seems rather ceremonious," Tristan quipped lightly, trying to pull herself from the dark thoughts still swimming beneath the surface of her memories.   
Bran took the seat behind his desk after ensuring the flames would continue without his watchful eye. Tristan was ushered into the seat across from him and Charles stood behind Bran, a looming threat and a reminder that Bran was setting the rules for how this discussion would go.   
They sat in silence, as they waited for Anna to arrive. Tristan had grabbed the glass of water without thinking, as a safety net of sorts, and now clung to it as if it could save her.   
The minutes ticked by and Bran seemed to grow impatient, to the point that even Charles grew restless under the tension that was building in the small study. Tristan tried to fix her thoughts into a single direction and focus on how to present the other two wolves with her nature. She wasn't sure of the reactions she would receive and even though Bran had calmed down from the state he was in, she wasn't counting on getting away completely unscathed.   
"This must be serious," said a melodic voice as Anna stepped around the doorframe and into the study.   
"Anna, come in please, and shut the door." Bran requested.   
Anna followed directions and took a seat next to Tristan, and looked to both Bran and Charles. She hadn't been informed of anything, Tristan would have heard if Charles had spoken anything more over the phone, she was sure.   
Tristan drew a deep breath and began.   
"Earlier this morning I disclosed something to Bran which I will now show to both of you," she said, confidence clearly not evident in her voice.   
"I was accused of being a witch, but I want to tell you all right now, I am not, nor have I ever been a witch. Mercy tells me that magic has a specific scent to it, and you're welcome to check again, but I'm fairly certain I don't give that off at all."  
Tristan then took the same two fingers as before and dipped them in the glass again. Water streamed from her fingers and defied gravity as she pulled and tugged with her own kind of magic, because what else could it be. She drew a small sun, an arrow, a teardrop, and a music note, a symbol for everyone present in the room.   
Tristan saw the shock and confusion on their faces, and she saw when they tried to discern the scent of any magic familiar to them. The confusion grew and the firm look on Brans face deepened. This was a problem that he had yet to determine how best to deal with it.   
As Tristan pushed the water back into the glass and set it on a coaster on top of Bran’s desk, she spoke.   
"There is more to that display than meets the eye. I have an affinity for water, particularly turning it into ice. The first snowfall happened the day I arrived, and while I wasn't responsible, I feel that it was a sign. I don't know if it's positive or not. I can also control anything that contains water down to the molecule."  
She focuses on herself, raising a hand, and concentrating on pulling the water from it. As they stare at her, she begins to sweat and the beads move from her hairline to directly in front of her, and her hand begins to sweat too. The same thing happens and she has managed to gather water the size of a large marble in front of her. She pants with the effort and pulls the water back into her body, sliding the opposite hand across her skin and erasing any evidence of the moisture she had pulled from herself.   
"Clearly," Tristan begins to say. "It's less effort and more manageable if I'm properly hydrated."  
Tristan waits a few seconds before drinking the entire glass of water. The room is silent while all the wolves process what they've seen and heard, and Charles processes what his other senses tell him.   
"Tough crowd," Tristan jokes, trying to lighten the mood.  
"How can you not be a witch when you clearly are practicing magic?" Bran questions her.   
"Da, she doesn't smell like-"  
"A white witch then, like the one in Portland you met," he qualifies.  
"I told you already," Tristan butts in. "I'm not any kind of witch. I don't know spells, I can't summon anything - witches can do that right?- and until very recently, I didn't know they were real."  
Tristan's declaration does little to help her case, Bran is convinced she is a witch outright and she doesn't know what Charles or Anna believe.   
"Maybe," Anna begins. "She's telling the truth. Maybe she really isn't a witch. When did you discover this about yourself?" Anna asks Tristan.   
"I-I-I-" Tristan is caught if guard. She takes a deep breath and starts over, letting out the breath she held to calm her nerves.   
"Seventeen," she says. "I was seventeen. And now I'm twenty-seven. I've been on the run for ten years because the day I discovered I could do this," she waves her hand around wildly, managing to conjure the tears that have begun to form in her eyes.   
"I nearly lost my family. My brother was in the hospital for two months, and my parents had to move into a different house because some creep decided I belonged to him. That I was special and only he could have me. I don't even know who he is!" She screams. Her frustration keeps building and tears are now streaming down her face. Everyone has become uncomfortable but it is Bran who decides to fill the silence.   
"Someone, unknown to you, caused you to abandon your life and live on the run? Is that what you would have us believe?"  
Tristan looked at him across the desk and shook her head. She stood quickly and lifted up her shirt, brandishing a burn scar in the shape of a large handprint. A man's handprint.   
"I want you to believe that I'm not the only person in the world that can do whatever it is that I do. Whoever this man is, he marked me, and he burned my childhood home. He threatened my family and I thought if I wasn't attached to them that they would be safe," she spat. With that, she swung around Anna's chair and threw open the door.   
Tristan ran down the hallway, nearly colliding with Leah in the process.   
"Watch where you're going!" Leah tells her, offended.  
Tristan scrambles past and out the back door, trudging through the snow that has been accumulating on the porch over the last few days. It's more ice than snow, and her footing is less than ideal, but she makes it to the ground and trudges uphill, away from the memories that threaten to pull her down, and into the thinner air, where she is more likely to find some accumulation of water. 

+

It had only been a short time she was here. The end of autumn into the beginning of winter, and still, she had begun to think of it as a home, instead of a way-station. She had become fond of the people who were trying to help her.   
She had ignored anything that made noise during her climb, presuming she was making enough of her own as she trekked through the snow and heights of backwood Montana. Never would she have thought the dreary half-covered peaks and valleys could be so lovely, and a shame she would be leaving so soon.   
Without a coat, there was a bite to the wind, one that would chill most hikers to the bone. She supposed being like Elsa was a perk, but it didn't mean she wanted to be surrounded by a palace of cold, glittering ice. Unless it would actually keep her safe - not likely though.  
As she made her way deeper into the backwoods, or further toward the city -she wasn't sure which - Tristan could hear something from the distance behind her. It took her a few moments to recognize what it was, and where it was coming from. Tears pricked her eyes again, emotions strung high after revealing how strange her life had become.   
The melody was something familiar. She had been humming that tune to herself every night for ten years. It was a tune that was incredibly important to her, and she was angry at the fact Bran would use it against her, even if he didn't know why she used it to soother herself to sleep. It honestly wasn't a song many would find comforting at all. That he knew the words surprised her too.   
It didn't matter. She wouldn't return. Clearly, she wasn't wanted and was more of a problem than was necessary. This was just to bring her back long enough to find a new destination. She knew her way around the seedy underbelly of cities, she could make up a new life if she needed to. Death Cab for Cutie be damned, with their melodramatic music and sentiments of closure for those along their final journeys. She won't let it pull her back into the sense of being normal she was growing into.   
Rounding yet another strange turn on her ascent, Tristan smells something out of place in the otherwise silent forest. Something that does not belong here, out in the wilds, or near her at all. Fire. It started down below, in some packed in, a dense bit of forest where saplings have no foothold and if they become the tall trees that surround them, they have had a good life. Except these trees have met their end, in the roiling, black smoke that assaults Tristan's nose. She wonders if the wolf that has been trailing her can smell it yet, or if she has no choice but to return if only to inform them of the looming threat of the forest fire growing in their backyard.   
Tristan turns, finding that Bran is closer than she realized, and not alone. Leah has come with him, to keep him from bringing her back or to help him she isn't sure. Tristan sighs and sees their heads lifted, sampling the air, and sees the exact moment they realize there is a danger.   
"Come back with us, and we will talk some more, we need to alert the fire department that they are needed, and we aren't sure how this fire started," Bran says. There is no coaxing or pressure, just cool, sensical intellect at work. Tristan nods slowly and begins to walk back the way she had come, earning a nod from Bran as a reward.   
"I could tell you how it started," barks a voice from a small group of trees not far from where Bran and Leah stand.   
At the voice, Tristan stills. It is impossible. There is no way that it can be, that she has been discovered here, in all the places she's been.   
"You," she breathes, but the wind favors the wolves and carries her whisper to them. The voice is attached to a tall, muscular man, long flowing hair as bright and red as the flames below them in the gorge.   
"I'll do one better, I'll show you how it started," the man says, stepping out from the trees that had protected him from view, and for the small-time, the noses of the wolves. A smirk covers his face, but his eyes are overflowing with hatred and madness. He is singularly focused on Tristan, paying no mind to the wolves between him and his prey.   
This was her end, she knew it as she stared into the eyes of the face that had haunted her dreams over the last decade. She had come to Aspen Creek on a bright clear day, and now she would leave here in darkness, surrounded by cold, unfeeling plastic, if there was enough of her to put in a bag.   
"Stay away!" Tristan yelled, to whom it was unclear.   
"Why would I stay away when you are the one that consumes my dreams, precious girl? You have run so far, you should rest now. If you come to me, they will be spared," the man says in a placating tone.   
Tristan shifts her eyes from the man with flame-red hair to the pair of wolves between them. She can't read either of their expressions, except that they are hard and focused. She moves closer to the man and asks a question.   
"You promise, if I come willingly, no one here will be harmed?"  
"Yes," the man barked a laugh. Hearty and full, and prickly in the worst way.   
As Tristan moves past Bran and Leah, closer to the man, Bran shoots his hand out to grab her.   
"He is lying," Bran says. "Don't move any closer. Is this the man you said was like you?"  
Tristan bobs her head up and down, too frightened for words. She needs to tell them why he is dangerous, but she can't think straight.   
The man makes a clicking noise with his teeth.   
"Tsk, tsk, Tristan. You said you would come to me, you cannot stay with these beasts. Come here," he chides, anger growing in his tone and body language.   
"No! I asked if no one would be hurt. You lied, you always lie," Tristan sobs, eyes wide with fear, tears streaming down her face.   
She looks to Bran and Leah and mouths’ fire' to them both. Bran picks up right away and somehow communicates to Leah what he has discovered.   
The man is growing impatient. He moves closer to the small group with a purposeful stride.   
"I don't believe we've been properly introduced, in this life, Tristan. I am Kayden, your half brother, dear one," he says, walking up to Bran, hand extended.   
"Wh-what?!" Tristan says. That is wrong. She only has a younger brother, what does he mean, this life? He must be crazy.


	5. Dancing Through Sunday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayden finds his target, Leah defends Tristan for Bran. Kayden destroys the peace and brings forth the Berserker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me on this story! I've been working nonstop, 6 days a week and found it difficult to find time to write. I'm sorry it took so long to post, but here is the next installment in this storyline. Thank you for your patience and thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy and look forward to the next chapter!

Tristan is reeling from the accusation, there is no possible way what this stranger says is true. It is more lies and deceit yet there is something about his words that strike Tristan, the confidence in which he speaks, the assurance in his posture. 

Tristan is lost in her head, not noticing his encroaching presence. She is still trying to string together how he could possibly have found her when she thinks of who she had visited before coming to Aspen Creek. 

"What did you do to Mercy?" Tristan shrieks in panic. Her heart rate speeds and both wolves turn their attention for just a moment to her, instead of the intruder they know nothing about. 

"Why, whatever do you mean by that?" Kayden asks a cruel grin playing on his face as he steps closer. 

"Not another step closer, stranger," Bran warns, sounding more like a growl than words. 

In Kayden’s shadow, Bran is small, almost certainly a teenager from another perspective, while Kayden is large and brutish, appearing more of a man like Charles or Adam in stature to those who did not know who Bran was. It is apparent to Tristan that Bran is struggling with the possibility that something has happened to Mercedes, but he feels responsible in some way for Tristan's safety as well. 

"Mercy, you say?" Kayden questions aloud.   
"Ahh, yes. The feisty mechanic. She was intriguing to watch, but she is not you, dear sister. She may have been a fun toy," at this Bran growls deeply, meeting Kaydens glittering emerald eyes with his own pale gold ones. 

"Is she something special to you? No matter, I can return and have my fun with her if I please. Her beast was rather convinced I already had when I took him for information," Kayden says, lifting his hand in a familiar gesture from movies and television. Propping one arm on the other to support his chin, he tilts his head, pretending to contemplate what scenario could have happened if Mercy had been his target instead. 

"You took Adam? That was a stupid mistake," Tristan speaks, slapping a hand over her mouth at speaking so boldly. 

"Tristan is right," Bran confirms, sliding a glance her way. "Our little coyote is intelligent. If he hasn't been returned to the pack she belongs to," Bran seemed to struggle with those words for a moment. "They will be looking for you for retribution."

His words hung in the air, a threat he could speak seemingly tied on his tongue, the implication that the Aspen Creek pack would lend their aid to the only pack outside of their nationwide hierarchy. Bran emanated malice and hatred, so pure and noticeable that Tristan even flinched away from what he was projecting. 

As she moved to create distance between herself and Bran, Kayden reached out for her, grabbing her forearm and pulling her in a masterful twist to his body. He planted her feet between his wide stance and pulled her to face him instead of the wolves who had been a barrier to her before. 

"Just as it is meant to be, my sweet girl," Kayden says, placing his hand on the side of Tristan's face and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

Tristan was obviously uncomfortable, even more than being interrogated by Bran and Charles, which spoke volumes about the way she had been treated in this man's presence before. Bran could see there was some connection they shared, and he wondered if the mark on Tristan's stomach was more magical than an unknown phenomenon. 

"Stop. Stop holding me like this, I don't even know you," Tristan fusses. She is trying to move backward and pull away but Kayden's grip tightens around her waist splaying her top half against his own chest and her hands are flailing trying to push against him. As he leans down to plant a kiss on her lips she finds his jawline and fights against him, keeping them suspended in an awkward configuration. 

"Stop!" She yells in Kayden's face. With her vocal command ice comes shooting from both her palms into Kayden’s face, breaking his skin and causing him to break his vice grip. If Bran hadn't been paying attention he wouldn't have seen it, but a spark of magic, very similar to Charles's own, traveled the expanse of Tristan's body beginning at the snow around her feet and ending on the strangers face, resulting in the cuts across his neck, jaw, and cheeks. 

As Tristan moves backward she loses her balance and falls on her backside, crawling backward until she runs into Bran's legs. He only grunts and lifts her up in front of him and pushes her beside and behind him, trying to form a barrier between Kayden and Tristan. Bran realizes her emotions are an important factor for wielding the power she seemed to possess. He now understands why Mercedes thought it was best for Tristan to come here, and why she may have advised Tristan to keep her power a secret until she had become a regular fixture. With everything else that had happened before her arrival, it was easy for Bran to lose track of the time and allow her to stay, undisturbed, and unchecked for the most part. A dangerous thing he should have been more on top of; one he was certainly regretting now. 

Kayden recovers from the surprise and glares, death a promise in his stance as much as his eyes. He regains his balance and pulls a hand across his face, smearing blood across it like war paint. 

"Why do you rend my flesh, dear one? Do you not remember the consequences of these actions?"

Kayden mocks her, watching her face pinched in confusion. 

"Con-consequences?" Tristan squeaks.   
"Wh-what do you mean, consequences?" She tries to backpedal but hits a tree along the side of the trail she had followed up. Backed into a corner she draws in quick short breaths trying to calm her racing heart and focus on finding a way out of this mess she had dragged here. Bran has shifted in front of her and backed closer to keep her from being the weakest target, and Leah has followed suit. Kayden advances but hangs back, just out of reach. He is trying to find the best opportunity to flush Tristan out of her safety and into his waiting clutches. 

"I could smoke you out, little girl. Do not forget what I can do," he chides Tristan, wiggling his fingers in the air as if showing off a magic trick. 

"Tristan," Bran hedges. "What exactly is he implying?"

"More fire," she whispers helplessly. It is not that she is afraid of fire, but she is afraid of who controls it, Kayden. 

Bran takes his focus off of Kayden and looks back to Tristan. "I need you to get Charles," he tells her, meeting her eyes. 

"Explain what is happening. Have him get the fire department out here immediately, while Leah and I take care of this."

"Are you sure?" Tristan asks. She is flicking her eyes between Brans' and the scene behind him. Kayden watches her carefully while keeping track of Leah and Bran’s body language. Bran nods to her as he turns to face Kayden again, leaving the path clear for her to go. 

"Turn your back to me now, dear one, and you will not return to find these beasts recognizable," Kayden warns. 

"I do not wish to hurt you now, but I will make my point clear. You are mine, Tristan, you will not escape me."

Tristan backs away slowly, testing each step as she moves. She was terrified of turning around but she knew the safest thing to do was to listen. It was surprisingly clear to her that Bran was right to have her go, she would only escalate the situation. Removing herself was the best course of action. 

"You don't win here," Tristan spoke, voice trembling slightly with the distance and her nervous thoughts. "You don't own me and you can't tell me whose I am or what to do. I don't belong to you."

"Bah, you have always belonged to me, dear one. Since the day you came to be I decided you were mine," Kayden scoffs at her. He inches closer toward her despite Bran and Leah blocking his passage to Tristan. 

"How is that possible? I've never met you until recently, you don't know anything about me," Tristan says, angered by the implication that she had been stalked her whole life without ever knowing it. 

"I've seen your scars, little one, because I am the one who gave them to you," Kayden remarks moving forward and pressing the limits of the boundary the wolves have made. 

"I know you gave me this!" Tristan screams as she lifts her shirt once again to show Kayden and Bran the handprint on her midsection. Leah sucks in a sharp breath, this is her first time seeing this mark, or learning about it. No matter her flaws, Leah believed no one deserved to be marked by another, and if more had happened to Tristan as a child, she deserved reparation. 

Kayden clicks his teeth together and shakes his head, eyes locked on Tristan's as he twirls a finger in the air, motioning for her to turn around like a runway model showing off an outfit. 

"Your other scars, silly girl. The ones you keep hidden on your back and wrists," he cajoled her.

"No," she whispers. It's so faint that only the look on her face gives away the shock and confusion she feels. She lifts her shirt higher and shivers in the brisk Montana breeze, as she spins to show them all the criss-cross of thin scars covering her back. 

"My parents never told me anything about these scars. They didn't know what they were or why they started to show up the older I got. How could you be responsible for these?" Tristan voices, not really interested in an answer, too overwhelmed by the information she is receiving. 

"It doesn't matter right now, pet. You are marked in more ways than one. You are mine," Kayden says with glittering eyes. 

Bran and Leah share a glance allowing Kayden to move closer still to Tristan. Neither knows what to think of this new information or if it matters at all given the crisis rising before them with their forest on fire. 

"Tristan, go now!" Bran commands looking back at her still dazed and unsure. Before she can move Kayden tries to push past Leah, expecting little or no resistance from a female, regardless of their capabilities. 

"Oh, no, you don't," Leah says, planting herself firmly in front of Kayden, trying to ensure Tristan's safety while determining the best stance to take for her larger opponent. Outrunning him may be easier, but keeping him from chasing the young girl was the directive, not leading him further into their homes. 

"What is this? Your little bitch is defending what is mine?" Kayden jeers, eyes turning to meet Bran's while still putting effort into moving Leah aside. 

"That is my wife and my mate," Bran growls in Leah's defense, proclaiming her status and place in the pack. No one was higher except Bran, and only Charles could take her on without death or dismemberment occurring, not that he would want to. 

"She is of little consequence to me, remove her from my path," Kayden counters. He is becoming tired of everything getting in the way of collecting his prize. She was so close, only footsteps away. 

Kayden moves his eyes to watch Tristan trying to back away as quietly as possible, and not making much progress. Kayden is spurred on by her flight and knocks Leah aside enough to move closer to Tristan. 

"Leah, no!" Bran cries as he watches his mate bounce up to her feet and flies toward the stranger, angered by being moved and only slightly concerned for Tristan's welfare. She grips Kayden around the back of his neck trying to get under one shoulder to keep her grip. Kayden drops to his knees and rolls to the side, pinning her body into the snow. Kayden swiftly moves so he is face to face with his would-be attacker. 

"That was foolish," Kayden says, eyes burning into Leah's as she glares up at him, struggling to move his body, despite the extra strength being a werewolf affords her. She wiggles and pushes against Kayden but he doesn't move. Bran creeps closer but Kayden anticipates his movements and places a hand around Leah's neck. She stops struggling and Bran slows, trying to fight his instincts screaming at him to protect the only thing that keeps him from tumbling into the darkness he keeps locked away. 

"Not another step closer," Kayden mirrors Bran's earlier words. A malicious grin slides across Kayden's face as he looks up at Bran. 

"That was what you said to me, was it not?" Kayden prods, searching for the crack and weakness Bran had almost exposed. While Leah was important to Bran, was there anyone more important here with him Kayden could use to his advantage? Kayden didn't think so.

"I'll allow you and your pet to live, provided you give me the girl. She's much too difficult for the likes of you to handle and needs to be reminded of her place," Kayden spoke softly, allowing the wind to carry his demands to Bran's ears. Leah's eyes filled with hot, bitter anger. She would never allow a man to dictate her place, except for Bran, and even then she fought. She growled, drawing Kayden's attention once more. 

"The girl stays here," Bran retorted. "We can offer her help, and the tutelage she requires to control her gift-" 

Kayden spat a strangled laugh out. 

"It is no gift, you fool. She is as cursed as our mother before her. What the water gives it will freely take away, it destroys more than fire. No gift could be more cruel."

Bran's face hardened as he tried to move closer, to save his mate and keep Tristan safe. Leah's eyes caught his movements and Kayden tightened his grip around her throat. Something about what Kayden spoke didn't sit right with Bran, but without further information, he couldn't determine the truth of what Kayden spoke. 

Bran eyed Kayden's grip around Leah's throat. It is too tight and secure for Bran to break, not without harming Leah. His wolf was raging beneath the surface, urging him to action while his human half struggled to remain calm and analytical. Tristan had rooted herself in the path, unable or unwilling to leave until something changed even with Bran's clipped orders. Bran can feel Leah pulling at the pack bonds and Charles' questioning but solid resolve behind the bonds he was lending strength to. Bran opened up their bonds too, just a little, trying to give her the strength to overpower Kayden and keep herself safe. Bran reaches out to Charles telepathically, as only he is able to do. 

Come quickly, my son. My mate is in danger and so is the young girl. Protect her, protect them all if the worst comes to pass.

"I've warned you once, wretch," came Kayden's admonition, crisp and cool. "Do not come any closer."

Bran had hardly realized the movement his body had done on its own while he called out for Charles. Though minor, he had moved closer to Leah and Kayden, gravitating toward his pinned mate. He wondered silently what this man before him truly was. He didn't smell of fey, but neither did he smell like a witch or human, or wolf.

Out of the corner of Bran's vision, Tristan began to move, what direction he couldn't tell. Kayden had noticed too, now more than ever was the most likely time he could free Leah and save her from the compromised position she found herself to be in. But would leaving Tristan vulnerable be too much a danger as well? Where this Kayden seemed to be intent on only her, could she be weaponized? Bran shuddered to think of something so small and seemingly fragile being used in that way…but he knew better than most that things were almost never as they appeared to be. She could not leave, then. And he must choose, between the safety of remaining bonded to Leah and keeping his wolf in check, or keeping an unnamed threat safe, to ensure she was not used against his wolves in the future. 

Tristan had come closer, but she was unsure of why. She felt the need to draw Kayden away from here, by whatever means. She couldn't jeopardize the peace she was beginning to feel and build here in Aspen Creek. If it meant safety for her family and friends, safety for the wolves that called these mountains home, she would travel anywhere with Kayden. 

"Tristan, stop. Do not involve yourself further," Bran voices, loud enough to stir Tristan and stop her pace. 

"Or carry on my wayward pet, continue unto my arms and save these poor creatures from a horrid fate," Kayden counters Bran. "Come away with me and leave these beasts to their own devices. Save them my wrath and be mine."

Tristan looks between Leah's prone form, face contorted with anger and hatred, Kayden's mischievous and coy look of invitation, and Bran's stoic, almost dread-filled look. He seemed torn in different directions. Tristan could see the wolf fighting for control. 

"You're word then," she began, addressing Kayden. "None of them, my family, friends, the wolves here and in the Tri-cities, remain unharmed. Everyone is safe if I go with you. That is what I want to hear before I come any closer and go anywhere with you."

Kayden placed his free hand over his chest, presumably over his heart. "On my honor, sweet child. Your friends and family will remain safe." 

A wry smile twisted on Kaydens face while Tristan mulled over his words. They were exactly what she had asked of him. They seemed true. And yet, she felt more trepidation in giving her answer, that she was almost surely making the wrong choice, even if it appeared she would keep them all safe. 

"Yes, I will go with you. Release Leah and I will join you, going anywhere you wish," Tristan said, taking a step forward while Bran's face hardened, despite Tristan stopping short of Kayden's reach without releasing his grip on Leah.

"You can do better, pet. Come to me, and she will be set free," Kayden sardonically voiced. He moved just enough to show he was loosening his grip, but not to the point Leah could escape with force. 

"Stupid girl," she spat at Tristan, infuriated by her gullible nature and willingness to trust this man none of them knew. 

"Foolish harpy," Kayden opposed, tightening his grip again, holding her in place. He beckoned Tristan nearer, desperate for his prize to be caught. 

Tristan moves cautiously, treading on the outside of his reach until she was close enough for Kayden to grab and pull her beside him. As she passed in front of Bran he caught her scent and his brain processed what he hadn't put together yet before. 

"You said she would be free," Tristan said, straining to stay as far from Kayden without leaving the circle around him. She was fearful of what he might do if he perceived her to be trying to leave or back out on her word. 

"That I did," he crows. Lifting Leah to her feet he pulls higher and holds her neck, feet dangling above the snow. She grunts and kicks her feet out trying to break his vice grip. 

"What are you doing? Let her go!" Tristan shrieks. She looks to Bran, unsure of how to intervene before she smells something awful. Bran meets her eyes, his pale yellow, the wolf shining through them. 

"You share blood," Bran growls, a vicious tone creeping through. His eyes tear to see Leah in pain, her flesh burning around her throat. Before he can run to her aide, Kayden flashes fire hotter and deeper, searing through flesh and making Leah's body glow with heat. Before Bran and Tristan's eyes, Leah is dissolved into ash, the breeze carrying her away throughout the mountains with nothing left of her but a memory.


	6. Girl's Not Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan is reeling and Leah is dead. Bran isn't himself anymore. Tristan tries to help him before Charles has to step in and keep the Berserker in line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this! I know it's been erratic and difficult to follow, and frankly, I'm kind of disappointed in my writing style but it's not one I'm terribly familiar with. Besides that, I hope the story is clear and is something you all are enjoying. Please R&R if possible and give some feedback, whether you like it or not so I can become better at this. As always, edited and betta read by myself, so all mistakes are my own. Hope you enjoy it!

Kayden wrung his hands together and turned to face Tristan and Bran. He had a cruel slant to his brows and a hard grin plastered to his face. He looked directly at Tristan trying to move past Bran, believing the main obstacle had been taken care of. Before taking a step Bran was in Kayden’s path, a look of fury and indeterminate anger chiseled into each muscle. He was still the same height, but the presence he exuded grew in an immediate and terrifying way.

“Away with you, dog. I’ve more important matters to attend to, like claiming my prize at the end of this filth of a journey,” Kayden spoke at Bran, keeping his eyes on Tristan. The only thing that had kept Kayden from destroying more on this Earth was the thought of Tristan denouncing him and denying her true place, by his side in power. 

A deep, reverberating growl sounded between where Tristan stood, some distance away, and where Kayden was. Bran met Kayden’s eyes in a challenge that neither was fully prepared to engage in. Tristan could see in the set of each man’s shoulders that neither would walk away until the other stopped breathing, the promise of violence thick in the air.

“You tore her away from me, my mate, the sole reason I have been able to conduct myself so calmly until now. You will not walk away from me, cur!” Bran’s expression was hard, and Tristan couldn’t tell if he was fighting the change or hoping for it. She wanted to go to him, offer comfort and condolence, but she didn’t want to draw Kayden’s focus to herself either. She inched forward but stayed out of the line of sight for as long as she could. 

“I am sure your loss has been,” Kayden pretended to struggle for a word. “Profound. No matter, that little pet of yours in Washington should do nicely if there are none available to you here.”

Kayden’s snide remark set Bran more off-kilter, eliciting another growl and cold-eyed stare. Tristan had the feeling Kayden shouldn’t have said anything, from her own experience. Mercy was an off-limits topic, one that had already been brought to light with no real purpose other than to search for cracks in Bran’s armor. Without Leah, Tristan was afraid there wasn’t any armor left.

“Kayden, stop it. Haven’t you taken enough? Leave him be and take up your quarrel with me.” Tristan’s voice came out stronger than she remembered, a righteous and indignant fury laced between the words that spilled forth. She didn’t want to cause any more destruction here, and she knew the wounds the loss of a lover could bring. Bran didn’t need an audience. He needed time and space.

“I would gladly, dear one, but that he would move aside. You see, beasts such as this do not know reason or finesse, they are of a lower understanding than the two of us,” the smooth words slid from Kayden’s lip and spread poisonous untruths into Tristan’s mind. She caught herself listening but not believing what he was implying.

“Like us? I am nothing like you. I don’t just kill people!” Tristan shrieked. Her face contorted in disgust and incense.

“Someday, you will,” Bran said, voice cool and collected like he hadn’t been only moments before. Bran’s eyes were a pale gold, lip curled up in a snarl. Bran’s wolf was fighting for control and had come out to play. Tristan’s blood ran cold, and she stood rooted to the spot, watching as Bran turned from Kayden to her and back again, disdain and mistrust written across his features.

“You suggest a farce. She is much too gentle to kill, or to maim,” Kayden regained his composure after being unsure of the change in Bran’s demeanor. “Tristan is a delicate thing, much too prone to fits of despondency. She would not be made of the material to take life from something.”

“She is standing right here. She can decide for herself,” Tristan said, wildly gesturing to herself as she spoke in the third person. Her movements caught the eye of Bran’s wolf, which watched her with a critical eye, still cold and calculating and much unlike what she had become familiar with.

Tristan believed that most werewolves were fairly intertwined and not two-natured, as Charles, in the small amount of time she had spent around him, had displayed. He talked differently than other werewolves she had met, and compared to Adam, or even Mercy, he seemed more inclined to be split from one decision process or type of thinking when it came to his wolf. They were two separate beings that shared his body, in everyone else she had met, it seemed that there was no difference in thought process or understanding. They simply were.

Now it seemed, there was a discrepancy between the two, one she had not considered fact, or worth noting on more than a trivial level. Her misunderstanding it seemed, would cost her a great deal if she couldn’t adapt and keep on top of this developing situation, where Kayden didn’t think she was capable of murder-to be honest she didn’t think she was either-and Bran’s wolf insisting someday she would become as cold and distant as Kayden appeared to be. Tristan didn’t like either idea laid before her, but she wouldn’t let two men decide what she was, and was not, capable of.

“I don’t like violence, I’ve never lifted a hand in anger at anyone. I don’t like being on bad terms with people, but in the past ten years, all I have ever done is run away, from the life I used to know, from the things that frighten me, from YOU, Kayden,” Tristan spills the words out that she has been struggling to articulate and truly understand.

“You destroyed my family, my friends, the semblance of a normal life at all. You kept me from having a life and made me afraid to look over my shoulder,” Tristan speaks more softly this time, still frustrated and confused by how Kayden and Bran are arguing over her morality, and whether she could or would kill someone. 

“If you had only come with me at that time, we would not be here now. I will remind you I was very courteous toward you and yours until they accused me of being overzealous and intending to turn you against them. If you had not included that pestering friend-” Kayden was interrupted.

“That was my boyfriend. Someone you murdered, so you could gauge the reaction I would have. It didn’t turn out so well if this is any indication,” Tristan spat at Kayden.

“Boyfriend, then. Your terms are unimportant to me. If he wasn’t there, you would have come into your own, beside me, and able to access unimaginable power.” Kayden’s response grated on Tristan’s nerves, and if Bran’s facial expression was an indication, his as well. 

“I don’t know you any better now than I did when you first showed up, Kayden. All I’ve seen of you is your cruelty and your inability to hear the word ‘no’ in any capacity. Normal people do not make such a big fuss about being turned down,” Tristan admonished as Kayden stepped forward past Bran, who was entranced by the words Tristan had spoken and seemed stuck in a daze. 

“All you had to do was ask, dearest, I can show you much more cruelty than what you think you’ve known,” Kayden seethed, a glare worthy of any movie villain plastered on his face. 

Tristan shrank back and sidestepped to remove herself from Kayden’s glare and to keep herself out of arm's reach of him. She scurried toward the path she had come up and was grabbed from behind. Tristan reacted, not thinking or focusing on anything other than breaking the hold around her. 

Tristan twists and drops her weight to lower the person’s hold, and hopefully knock them off balance. She breathes in and lets air out in a gush, putting force behind it and creating little shards of ice that fell, tinkling to the ground. She repeated the intake of breath and turned her head over her shoulder to aim at whoever was holding her and came face to face with Bran, eyes ablaze and pale, grown larger because of the words Tristan hadn’t thought she would ever have spoken. Their lips nearly brushed and Bran’s eyes seemed to switch back and forth between hazel and gold, making it difficult to determine who or what was in control.

Tristan swallowed her breath and kept from causing Bran blindness, even if it might have been temporary. He let her go and she fell, ungracefully to the ground and winced as her hands touched the snow, and there was no support for her wrists and elbows as she sank into the inches beneath her.

Tristan could feel Bran and Kayden’s gazes on her back as she adjusted and rose, brushing snow off of her coat and knees. Slowly, deliberately she turned to face them both. Bran appeared conflicted and unsure, while Kayden seemed furious at the almost-kiss she had shared, unintentionally. She didn’t meet either of their eyes, instead, she placed one foot behind her, searching for purchase without the untimely addition of falling again, and successfully found it.   
As she continued to place one foot behind the other, moving backward and away from both men, she saw the change in Kayden’s stance and demeanor. Began to see him drawing upon something, possibly similar to what she felt as she began to draw on the water around her, and watched him turn head-on, to face Bran. In the state he was in, regardless of the apparent ability to move and function like a normal werewolf, Tristan wasn’t certain he would be able to predict or outmaneuver Kayden and his attacks.

She stopped, watching as Bran caught Kayden’s movement in the corner of his eyes. Bran wouldn’t meet her eyes either, and she couldn’t blame him. The moment before had been awkward and something neither of them would have expected, but it did make Tristan wonder why he would keep her from fleeing when only moments before he was urging her to leave. She could think of no reason other than his wolf needing someone or something to protect, now with Leah gone and all sense of normalcy lost to him.

Kayden murmured something Tristan couldn’t hear, almost like a spell, and pushed his arm forward toward Bran, palm open and facing the other man. Flames shot out of his palm like a torch. Tristan watched as Bran moved just seconds before being scathed by the flames. He turned to fully face Kayden, better preparing himself for future attacks while Tristan inched back toward him, unwilling to let someone take the beating she was intended for.

Kayden continued with similar attacks, changing directions and tactics, oblivious to her movement until she stood, just behind Bran at an angle. Tristan was shielded from most of the attacks, but if Bran moved, she may become the target instead, and it seemed that Kayden was working up from testing Bran’s mettle to actively trying to harm or kill him. Tristan could no longer standby silent and unengaged. As the next attack came, Bran moved to miss and noticed Tristan behind him, almost within range, and switched his direction, to keep her out of the line of attack.

They tumbled into the snow together, Bran’s arms around her as a shield. She could smell scorched fabric and saw that not all of the attack had missed. Bran’s jacket had caught some of the fire, and as he fell it had been extinguished. Her ire rose, and she shoved at him, trying to give them both space while she planned what she was going to attempt. Before she could stand and face Kayden, Bran was atop her again, presumably protecting her from the flames undoubtedly aimed in her direction. 

Tristan shoved again, and followed up with a roll, pinning Bran beneath and between her legs, knees in the snow on either side of his hips, before rising up and turning to face Kayden. She drew in a breath and pulled into herself, and from somewhere inside herself, Tristan knew what she was capable of. All of the experiments she had done, even in the last few hours, she knew exactly what she was capable of creating and bringing forth with her ability to control water and shape it to her will.

As Tristan exhaled, she focused on what she wanted to create. Still gaining an understanding of what she could and couldn’t do, she tried to create something she could aim at Kayden, presuming he would not be able to dodge or redirect what she threw. Bran watched from behind her, still lying in the snow, taken aback by her ability to force him off and to the side of herself as well as pin him beneath her, even though he had allowed her to do so. He hadn’t expected that from the meek and trembling girl he had been introduced to before. As he looked on, he saw a short spear of ice form beside Tristan, glinting in the minimal sunlight atop the mountain.

“Are you mad?” He asked her quietly, trying to get her attention without giving away her intent if Kayden somehow hadn’t noticed yet.

“I might be, but I need to see if this can work,” was Tristan’s quick response. She followed Kayden’s movements closely, tracking to the best of her ability, and threw her spear when she felt he would be most vulnerable, watching as he deflected the shot with a wave of his flaming hand.

The frustration showed clearly on her face, but she remained determined. The set of her shoulders reminding Bran of his now-deceased mate, leaving him aching for the chance to tear this man before him apart, and Tristan too if she was deemed too much of a threat. Bran set aside those thoughts, for now, watching instead how Tristan planned to keep Kayden at bay because she was too young and inexperienced to know how to defeat him, Bran was sure.

As Kayden bore down on them both, the look of fury on his face satisfied some deep part of Bran’s wolf, knowing that he would extinguish this flame just the same way Kayden had taken Leah from Bran. It was pleasure enough he almost took action for the spite of it, not caring if he was cut down as well, he had lived for long enough and to allow the beast within to roam freely was to set the world up for another dark age, where monsters and ghouls roamed and wreaked havoc to their liking. He couldn’t afford to do that, not now with Mercedes happy and as safe as she had ever been once he had sent her away. Another thought he couldn’t pursue in its entirety. 

Kayden stopped short of Tristan and Bran, far enough away he couldn’t easily be reached, but close enough he could still attack and do damage to either one of them. Bran stood then, ready to step in and help Tristan in any way he could, a reckless smirk lighting his face. Kayden only had eyes for Tristan, though. 

Kayden advanced yet again, flames in both hands now and Tristan tried not to show her fear, refusing to step back and allow Kayden’t to set the terms any longer. If she wanted to be free, she needed to confront what frightened her the most. The fear of her own limitations, and of this mostly stranger were the biggest things that had continually held her back and now, as she was on the verge of understanding herself, she chose to make her own stand. 

Tristan ventured forth, grabbing both of Kayden’s hands, wincing as her flesh was scorched, and pushed her focus on quenching the fire Kayden commanded while also encrusting his hands with ice. The movement was unexpected to both Bran and Kayden, to the point Kayden didn’t notice what Tristan was doing, as ice also crept up his boots and solidified, locking him in place.

“Is this your acceptance?” Kayden asked, daring to let a hopeful tone creep into his voice. Bran let out a low growl that confused Tristan, but she didn’t turn back and look at him like she wanted to. 

“No, Kayden. This is me telling you to stop forcing me to watch you tear apart my life. Refusing to let you dictate what I will become. I have to make my own choices, and you will never be one of them,” Tristan said as she pulled her hands away from his, dragging water from the snow and air around them and pushing it toward Kayden.

As Tristan pulled and pushed the element she connected with, she surrounded Kayden’s head with swirling water, keeping breath from entering or escaping his lungs. She held on until she was panting, Kayden’s arms swinging about wildly and his feet still stuck in the ice as he struggled before her. Tristan realized she was coming close to drowning him, Kayden’s hands still thawing from the ice she had encrusted them with, unable to call upon the fire he needed to ensure the water dissipated.

Shock made Tristan lose her focus and the water crashed around Kayden and Tristan both. The ice cracked and she watched as Kayden was able to lift one foot after the other and stumble away from her. Fear clouded her mind and acidic bile rose, coating her tongue, thick and sharp with disgust. She had tried to kill someone just to prove her independence. She couldn’t be trusted to make big, life-altering decisions if she would kill someone like that. She couldn’t allow Bran’s prediction to come true even if the words seemed like a statement that could be thrown away at the time. She couldn’t become what she feared, she would lose herself if she allowed that to happen.

Bran caught her as she stumbled back and held her tight, fear coursing through his veins just the same. He wasn’t sure of where her power truly came from, but his wolf was wary of her abilities-water was no friend to wolves, their muscles didn’t lend themselves to having much ability to float and spend more time in the water than necessary.

Kayden floundered but was in no shape to stand against both Tristan with her newfound confidence and Bran with his strength. As the realization came to him, he fought the urge to fight anyway, come what may, and turned toward the forest he had set ablaze and ran. Tristan wasn’t sure if she was glad Kayden’ left, or if she was more afraid of him returning. She turned in the same direction and gathered her emotions, channeling them toward drawing up as much water as she could from their surroundings as possible. 

She calmed her mind and her emotions. Tristan imagined the art exhibits she had seen in many different towns as she had fled across the country several times. Imagined the pieces that had moved her in some way, and closed her eyes to guide the water she could feel thrumming around her toward the aching gash in the forest that the fire had caused. She could feel as the fire slowed and became embers and ash in the gorge so many yards away, and she could feel the energy draining out of her, exhaustion pulling her to sleep in a cool white embrace.  
Before Tristan could fall into a slumber, she opened her eyes and found a pair of pale gold ones staring back at her quizzically. The gaze was from Bran’s wolf, but the man that stood before her looked no worse for wear, if not disheveled and unprepared for winter in Montana. The wolf gazed out at her, and the voice that accompanied him was unnerving and full of demands.

“How long have you hidden your power?” The wolf asked her. Tristan’s mouth gaped, unsure of how to answer and slightly upset by the accusation.

“I haven’t hidden anything,” an accusing tone came across and made the wolf’s hackles rise, the set of Bran’s shoulders making it obvious to Tristan. “I only meant I hadn’t known what I was capable of. I knew I could do small things, like what I had shown you earlier, but I never would have dreamed I could do what I have today. Honestly, it frightens me.”

Despite her admission, Bran’s wolf still didn’t trust the honesty and openness she had displayed. Her words tasted true, but they were an opinion, something that was as flimsy and easy to manipulate as paper.

“That is why I cannot allow you to continue on your way. You are a greater danger than I would have guessed even given my distrust of you before this,” Bran’s wolf said motioning to the steam rising from the gorge where she had cooled the flames of Kayden’s fire. As he gestured about, Tristan grew uneasy, feeling like prey once again, but from someone she had grown to trust, or at the very least, gotten comfortable around.

“Bran?” Tristan questioned, trying to tamper down the fear that had renewed its course in her blood. 

“Yes and no,” answered the wolf. “Bran is within me, and I am with him. Long ago he wanted not to feel, and I held the reins. Berserker, they called me, for all the pain and horrors I caused. Now, again, I am loose and left wanting. My desires are many, and your sweet blood could slake some of my desires.”

Tristan gasped and backed up a few steps, heart tripping in fear and confusion, but something else. She was afraid, but she was also intrigued, despite the implicit threat in the wolves' words. Danger had never been something exciting, the opposite usually. Having lived life on the run for so long had deadened the aspect of dread that should have accompanied his words, especially after nearly being taken by the very person she had fought so hard to escape.

“What would you accomplish in my death?” Tristan asked, voice trembling slightly, but still steady and full of intrigue as she wanted to know what the wolf deemed a necessary kill. Why he felt she didn’t deserve to continue living.

“You are dangerous. I cannot trust you. Had I known you had such power I would have kept you from seeing our home, no threats can stay and flourish,” the wolf responded dourness leaching into his tone.

In a flash, Bran's hands were around Tristan’s throat, her feet dangling above the snow in a position similar to how Leah had been held before her demise. Tristan gasped for air, scratching and clawing at hands slowly suffocating her and her eyes swimming with tears of fright and pain. His hands held her firmly, restricting her airways causing her vision to blur and fade in and out. Unsure of how long she had been hanging there, Tristan began to see things that weren’t there, things she couldn’t have imagined or known about, she believed.

Instead of Bran holding her aloft and choking her, it was Kayden. In a room dark and gloomy with a blazing fire lighting his features from the side. Tristan squirmed and fought, trying not to waste precious energy or breath, but was unable to break the hold. One of Kayden’s hands released only to move across her body in a manner she didn’t want, caressing the curves through a gown she hadn’t been wearing in the snowy Montana backdrop.

“Don’t resist, little flower. It only makes it that much harder. Give in to me and save yourself the pain you will feel tomorrow. I only ask but a taste of your gracious beauty, my only desire is to rule with you by my side,” Kayden spoke as he cupped a breast through the gown and squeezed, making resistance a less likely option.

Before Tristan could experience any more of the terrifying scenario she heard footsteps crunch in the snow and fought the bleariness to open her eyes. On the edge of her field of vision, she could see Charles, as though he had run from Bran’s house or his own, straight up the mountain following their trail.

“Da! What are you doing?” Charles shouted at them in confusion. He looked around and saw only the two of them. As he ran closer he saw the change in Bran’s eyes and knew things were not right or well.

“Am I to believe Leah is gone, as the pack bonds suggest?” Charles asked the wolf, who only cocked his head in Charles' direction. Tristan still dangled from both of his hands and she knew if Charles could do nothing she would have to try on her own. She placed both her hands on Bran’s arms and locked eyes with his wolf. It may be a losing battle to challenge such an old wolf, but no freedom has ever come easy.

Tristan pulled beyond what she thought was even possible, and Charles watched, far more than he had seen in his Da’s office and the look of disapproval on his face grew. Tristan didn’t care, she pushed on hoping that she could break through this and at least free herself from the grasp that was slowly taking away from her.

Water wrapped around Bran’s arms, smooth and cool. Crystal clear, it threaded around the muscles and ran up to criss-cross around Bran’s neck and along his jawline. She focused on making the tendrils smaller, inching them closer to cover his face. Hoping he would lose strength and resolve before she could pass out again and lose the ability to control what she was doing, assuming she was still alive.

“I don’t wish for your death, Bran, or Berserker. Whichever of you holds sway, listen to me, please. I only want the freedom to choose the path my life will take. Only now have I felt the sea I have inside of me, the ability to call upon this element that is so fickle yet so constant. I haven’t let it swallow me whole, but if you aren’t careful, I will let it claim you, body and soul,” Tristan said, sure it was the best way to describe the truth of what she could feel within herself. A deep well of power she had only touched the surface of, because she had allowed fear to rule instead of faith and trust in her own abilities.

“Threats will not save you, witch,” Bran’s wolf was poised for the final breath she might take, anger and hurt swelling up behind his eyes. Tristan weaved the water closer and pushed it into Bran’s mouth, down into his lungs. She could feel the wolf fighting the fear of drowning as much as Bran accepting that it was a kinder fate than to be let loose to destroy the new world with the terror that was his wolf. Before the wolf could truly drown, Tristan was dropped to the ground and she pulled the water from his lungs, and around his arms and face encasing herself with the water, protecting her from the wolves for the time being.

“For the last time, I am not a witch like you say I am. If you have any other leads, I’d very much appreciate an idea of what I am, since the only thing I am actually capable of doing is controlling water,” Tristan quipped behind the safety of her shield of moving water.

Bran sputtered and drew in deep breaths, trying to regain the ability to breathe clearly. He turned his head up to her and Bran’s wolf stared back at her, hate and mistrust glowing in his pale eyes. Tristan strengthened her resolve and solidified the wall between her and the wolf, forming it into ice. Charles stared on stoically behind his father, warily watching Tristan and Bran, trying to determine how best to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.

“How could you be anything but a witch?” Bran’s wolf queried. “You may not smell like one, but you control things that are not naturally meant to be controlled.”

“Da,” Charles spoke. He wasn’t sure Bran could hear him, or if the wolf would listen. “You believe her to be a witch, and given the information provided, that may be true. Should we not thoroughly, in a secure location, determine the truth of that? Or let her prove her innocence?”

Tristan looked between Charles and Bran, surprised at his entreaty on her behalf. She wondered if Anna had put him up to it, or if she believed her more than anyone else. Tristan would be glad for any help talking Bran down, but she wasn’t sure how much she could trust any of the wolves considering Bran’s reaction and the lack of a tether to this reality. Leah may have been difficult, but she kept Bran put together and someone that was easier to be around. Her loss was throwing him into such a state that Tristan believed she might lose her life if she misspoke. She hoped she wasn’t correct in that belief, but reason led her to think she wasn’t too far off.

Bran turned to Charles as if considering his proposal. He met Charles’s eyes and the two struggled in a battle of wills between a nearly mad wolf, and a strong and independent son, who wanted nothing but his father to return so he would not be tasked with killing him. Tristan could see Charles struggling to keep eye contact and not cave in and with the decision to keep the rest of the world safe, or his heart. Despite her fear she couldn’t let that be Charle’s fate if she could prevent it.

Tristan moved forward, unaware of if she made noise as she stepped in the snow around them. Slowly she crept until she was behind Bran, sparse inches between them, and a head shorter than where he stood. Only Charle’s had noticed, but in trying not to break eye contact with his father he hadn’t given away what she was doing. Tristan reached for the back of Bran’s neck, placing fingers where she thought the pressure points were and leaning closer to whisper in his ear, hoping she knew what she was doing.

“Sleep, and dream of nothing. Do not search for wakefulness until you are at peace between your two selves. Sleep and find your composure. We will be waiting for you, you will not be alone,” Tristan said as she applied pressure in hopes that she was doing it correctly.

As she squeezed tightly she could feel Bran straining to turn his head and meet her gaze, a new threat causing him to stop staring at Charles. Bran didn’t pull away but stepped closer knocking Tristan off balance. He drew an arm up and thrust it back into Tristan’s chest taking the breath from her. Tristan’s fingers slipped off Bran’s neck and she fell into the snow behind them.

Bran turned and bore down on Tristan, hovering above her prone form as she caught her breath. He lowered himself on top of her, his hands holding her arms to her side while his knees pinned her hips to the ground on either side. His pale gold eyes glared at her own shimmering blue ones as fear and hope thrummed through her veins.

“I should kill you,” Bran spat out.

“So kill me then,” Tristan said. Bran reached out and pulled Tristan’s chin up, straining her neck taught, as the snow slipped down around it.

“Take my life, so he can never have the satisfaction. Keep me from becoming his plaything. You would be doing me a favor, something I have struggled to do myself,” she admits, meeting Bran’s gaze, giving him pause. She doesn’t hold his gaze long, but he can see she truly means it.

“You,” Bran tries to form the words for the questions he has. “You have tried to take your own life. Why?”

Tristan stares up at him briefly. She slides her eyes down and to the side, sighing slightly. 

“You’ve seen what he is. What he can do. Not every scar on my wrists showed up. Some..some of them I made. Some scars are on the inside, too.”

Bran loosened his hold, his golden eyes slowly turning back to hazel. He let go entirely and sat back on his haunches, evaluating Tristan. He slid off her hips and sat in the snow beside her. Charles approached and stood over them, gauging if his father was truly himself at this moment.

“How do you have scars inside?” Bran asked Tristan, curious as to how she could have scarred the inside of her body.

“I wouldn’t call it a wild phase, but I’m sure someone will classify it that way. I was seventeen when my family was rounded up and my boyfriend was murdered in front of us. After I knew they were safe enough, I ran as far and as fast as I could. I stumbled into a bad neighborhood in Los Angeles and managed to get a fake I.D. went drinking and partying with all the wrong people. Nearly gave myself alcohol poisoning on several occasions, and at the time, I almost wondered if it was really as painful as people have said it could be. I smoked too, anything that was available at house parties and that could make me forget about why I was running,” Tristan drew in a big breath before beginning again.

“I thought maybe it would be better if I wasn’t around because I had caused so much trouble to the family I thought was mine...I had gotten someone killed just for being in a relationship with them. It isn’t something that you want over your head at twenty-two. I called my parents every week after the first attempt just to make sure he hadn’t gotten to them, but I didn’t want them to be able to trace where I was, so I kept buying new phones. One night, when I thought I had seen him in a crowded bar I went back to the room I was renting at a shitty motel, and I filled the tub. I had a few shots before leaving and drank half a bottle of whiskey when I got back to the room. I took a pocket blade in the tub with me and got a few centimeters across on each side before I stopped myself.”

Bran regarded her, still laying in the snow, tears freezing to her cheeks and the corners of her eyes. She didn’t seem so dangerous now and clearly was emotionally conflicted over whether her life held meaning or not.

“When was the last time you spoke to your family?” Bran asked her.

Tristan shifted her head in the snow, and looked up at him, all vulnerability laid out before him. “Three days ago,” she said softly. A sniffle escaped as she said, “My brother got married this summer, and I haven’t even seen the pictures because I don’t want Kayden to somehow find me if I give my parents an email address. I only want them to be safe, and sometimes I think they are safer without me here.”

“Then you are a fool,” Bran told her as he crouched and took her hand, helping her to her feet.

“What?” Tristan didn’t understand what he meant by that statement.

“Your family is what has kept you from settling in one place for too long, yes? They are your motivation to keep living even if you feel the world will continue to turn without you in it? You have a purpose and a reason to live, and perhaps my wolf was too quick to show me what I feared. Let me help you find your purpose,” Bran said, nodding briefly to Charles as he started walking toward the path down the mountain and back to the house he now would have to rid of Leah’s possessions and scent.


	7. Death of Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tristan's magic soothes the beast, Bran finds a new mate, or a target for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are my own. This chapter is really long. Like, super long. Hope you all enjoy! R&R!

The walk back down the mountain was wrought with uncomfortable things. Confusion, not fully formed intrigue and exhaustion were some of the more constant companions as Tristan walked, sandwiched by Bran in front of her and Charles behind. Charles kept silent watch over their surroundings and Bran’s movements, with equal measure. 

Tristan was unsure if that bothered or comforted her.

No one spoke as they descended, presumably heading in the direction of Bran's home. Tristan couldn't muster any sense of dread or impending doom, though she was sure that there was something that would likely happen or that she would inevitably be blamed for Leah's disappearance and subsequent death. None of it mattered to her at the moment, the only thought that kept circulating was how Kayden had found her and all the destruction he would leave in his wake chasing her. 

Her thoughts continued in morose fashion, conjuring up images of her family lying in her childhood home, dead and desecrated. Her brother’s happy marriage suddenly cut short. Her friends, who already didn’t hear from her and could have assumed her dead, discovering the tragedy of her slaughtered family. The local news station covering the unusual murder mystery. She knew better than to give in to these thoughts but her emotions were frayed and not likely to be helpful any time soon.

When she was sure she could see the rise of Bran’s house, Tristan broke formation and started to run down the mountainside toward the back porch. She passed Bran before Charle’s was able to make pace with her and stumbled to a halt at the back door, realizing it was not her home, she had no right to barge in. Bran and Charles came to a stop beside her, neither one meeting the other’s eyes, but also neither one moving to open the door. 

Tristan could hear some voices but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Bran reached out toward her and almost immediately after, Charles opened the door, pushing Tristan inside with a quiet “We’ll be in shortly,” as he stepped between his father and Tristan. Bran’s eyebrows rose a fraction but he nodded to acquiesce, heading toward the large living room as Tristan escaped to her spare bedroom. 

Tristan ran inside the room, dove for the mattress, and scrambled around underneath it to find the phone she had purchased before leaving Washington state. Dialing a number from memory she paused before hitting the Call button. Her finger hovered there, almost expecting the worst to happen, but knowing she was only causing more anxiety and frustration to build. Tristan fought with herself, struggling to finish making the call that would settle her nerves and put her worries to rest. She lost track of how long she had been staring at the screen, continually touching the screen or pressing buttons to keep it from turning off. Finally, she pressed Call and waited as the phone rang through, unsure if she was hoping for an answer or not.

Three rings. Seventeen seconds and she was considering hanging up.

“Hello?”

Tristan sucked in a deep breath and nearly cried from relief. If her baby brother was safe, her parents were safe too. She could breathe again and not feel the pain she was sure would someday become a heart attack if she didn’t find a better way to cope.

“Hello? Look if this is some sort of sales pitch, it sucks.”

She’d nearly forgotten why she was so relieved.

“S-Seth?” Tristan ventured, hoping she didn’t sound too terrible after facing down her personal nightmare and running halfway down a mountainside to gain the fortitude to make this call.

“Tristan? Holy shit, I didn’t expect to get a call from you!” her brother exclaimed, irritation and relief equally present in his voice over the phone line. 

“Yes,” Tristan croaked. “It’s me. I-”

“Don’t give me the shit about you trying to keep us all safe again. Fuck’s sake Tryst, we miss you. Mom...mom’s been better lately, but whenever you call she gets depressed,” Seth told her somberly. Tristan knew he was right to be upset with her, but she truly thought she was doing the right thing for her family. Keeping them as far away as possible, and keeping them safe.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have called,” Tristan said, getting ready to pull the phone away from her ear before she could make it worse.

“No! Don’t hang up-I just want you to know that they’re fine, but it’s tough for them too. We all miss you.”

“I heard you and Viv finally got hitched,” she said into the accusatory silence on the other end of the line. A hoarse chuckle met her ears before carrying more positive words to feed the growing guilt in the pit of her stomach.

“We did. I hate that you missed it, and Viv will kill me when she finds out she didn’t get to talk to you, but she’ll understand.” Seth told her. He drew in a breath before asking a question. “You were the one who sent us the Limited Edition Vinyl’s as a wedding gift weren’t you?”

Tristan shrugged before answering. “Yeah. I knew you two had been eyeing them for a while. When mom gave me the registry information I was surprised there wasn’t even one on the list,” Tristan acknowledged without actually answering. Apparently, the time she had spent with Mercy had affected her answering ability, in that she sounded more and more like a fae. Or a politician

“Tristan,” Seth pressured. She sighed and gave in a little more.

“Did you know that it was two hundred dollars to have them shipped across the country anonymously with insurance and wrapped like that?” If he wanted an answer, that was the best he was going to get, at least that’s what she intended.

“Two hundred? Why, if you’re living from place to place. Across the country? Wait that’s why you had it sent from Newark?”

“Seth, I’m not answering all those questions, and before you ask, I’m not telling you how much they cost me either. Telling you how much shipping was is different. But I knew you’d like them, and they needed to be insured because I don’t trust the postal service for anything worth more than ten dollars, silly.” 

That seemed to get a better response. Laughter filled the line and infected Tristan with the need to let loose a little, too. She laughed with tears streaming down her face as she listened to her brother, healthy and happy scold her for wasting money on things she would never use or enjoy. They caught up about what was happening in his life, and he didn’t ask the things he knew would cut the conversation short. Tristan had missed this. It was why he was always the last one she called, why he only got two conversations a year if it was a good year.

As the conversation became idle and wound down to a place where Tristan could no longer postpone the inevitable she sighed deeply, listening to a story about her sister-in-law and a new client that could not understand personal boundaries as she prepared herself to break her brother’s heart, again. Before she could bring herself to say the words, Seth asked her a question that she had already answered, mostly.

“Tristan?”

“Mm. What?”

“Why’d you send those wedding gifts if you probably won’t ever see them again?”

She didn’t have to think about that one. It was simple.

“Because knowing you two will enjoy them and treat them well, that’s good enough for me. Nevermind the money or whatever else. I did it for you two. Because I love you, jerkface.” She had added the nickname she kept for him throughout high school to let him know, it really was because she felt happy to give him a small piece of joy.

Tristan didn’t hear anything after that and almost thought they had lost the connection before Seth came back on the line. “Thank you, sis. I know it was a lot for you to drop on us, even when you don’t get to see us. Just keep yourself safe okay? And call me more than twice a year before I hire a P.I. to find you,” Seth joked insistently.

Tristan agreed to some of it, and they disconnected. Tristan felt the loss of his comforting tone instantly but drew upon the calm she had been learning to instill within herself to ease the ache. She knew she should go out and face the judgment of the crowd, but a group of angry werewolves was not on her to-do list, or even on her bucket list. Not that she had made any lists or had any semblance of a plan of action.

A soft knock sounded at the door and she stood quickly, and soon regretted moving so fast. Sitting on the floor for an hour-long conversation was not the brightest idea in a series of not bright ideas she had had so far today. She moved to open the door when the knob turned and Bran entered the space that had been solely hers since she had come here for help.

Tristan stayed where she was, waiting for Bran to begin the interactions, wondering in the back of her consciousness if he was here to kill her and be done with it. His movement seemed easy and open, ready to communicate and bring peace to the tension she had dutifully been ignoring that was just outside the door. She felt the cool dampness on her sleeves from falling in the snow more than once. Tried to ignore the stiff wetness on her behind from being dropped there, too. Tristan seemed to remember Mercy telling her that Bran usually seemed likable and kind up until he wasn’t, and the panic she had dismissed earlier came back painfully quick. 

“I overheard some of your conversation. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it’s incredibly difficult to have private conversations in a house full of werewolves,” Bran stated. His voice and tempo were even, suggesting the peace and calm he normally radiated until earlier this morning.

“I see,” Tristan responded. Her expression blanched slightly and she looked around for any indication of the time, she knew it hadn’t been that long, but time seemed to move faster when you were engrossed in things other than your immediate surroundings. 

“I’ve sent everyone back to their homes, and a few members of the pack are making preparations for a memorial for Leah. Charles and Anna will be staying here tonight. Charles is waiting in the kitchen, anxious about my choosing to talk to you behind a closed door, even if he can still hear me,” Bran continued in an amused tone, wry expression on his face as he turned to look at the door with a mock glare. When he turned to face Tristan again, she shuddered, unsure if he was here to be a good host or if he was here to settle the matters that pertained to Leah’s untimely death and her involvement, however unintentional it had been. 

“Are you going to kill me?” Tristan blurted out. She resisted the urge to cover her mouth again. Tristan reminded herself that she had bigger problems to deal with if she walked away from here instead of becoming ash or interned in the ground. Whatever they did with their fallen enemies in Aspen Creek.

“What makes you ask that?” Bran pondered, not really paying attention to her as he looked around the small room she kept neat and tidy, all clothes in drawers or packed in the bags she brought with her, a small suitcase and backpack at the foot of the bed.

“I was under the impression,” Tristan began. “That even if you seemed to be less than homicidal coming back here, you were convinced I was a witch. That you were sticking very close to the script of ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ or something like that, because you had a really strong reaction to what I am capable of. Considering what I can do witchcraft.”

“I did, didn’t I,” he said as he stepped closer into the room. His eyes flashed pale gold for a moment and Tristan’s cobalt eyes widened in response. That was as much as she could give him, because while she didn’t want to die, she wouldn’t allow herself to become the nervous, snivelling little girl she had been when confronted with Kayden again. He terrified her, where Bran only mostly frightened her.

“You’ve managed to inspire quite the devotion in my daughter,” Bran finished with. Somehow it seemed that this was all he would say until she responded in a certain way. Tristan didn’t know he had a daughter, she thought he only had two sons, one she had never met and had only heard mentioned once or twice around Mercy. Stan or Sven. Sam, that was it. Samuel and Charles.

“You called Mercy?” Tristan asked, trying to figure out where he was going with the change in conversation. But he had called to tell Mercy about Leah. Who had disliked her fiercely and worked to subjugate or quell her the entire time she had lived here. “You told her about Leah…”

“I did. I also found out that Adam was only missing for a day, and that whoever that man is, he was either unable or unwilling to take on an entire pack of werewolves to find you,” he said with a growl in his tone. He pinched his nose in a frustrated manner and continued to speak at Tristan.

“Among other things, Mercedes has a better nose for magic than most of us, and told me that while you stayed with them she didn’t smell any witchcraft on you, even when you and her newest family member practiced your talents together in the kitchen. Whatever you are, unless I can smell or see otherwise, I am inclined to believe her,” Bran said, meeting her eyes once more and holding them.

Tristan blinked once, and a weight she hadn’t realized was there suddenly lifted from her shoulders. She could be content with her family and the few friends she had acquired along the way being relatively safe and whole. Tristan replayed what Bran had said over again in her head, focusing on every nuance and each gesture as he watched her, silent and predatory from a few steps away. A realization came over Tristan. Bran had called Mercy not only to inform her of Leah’s passing, but for solace and a place to heal. He loved his sons, from what she understood, but Mercy was the safest and most dangerous place for him to be. Because it was an unrequited and unacknowledged love born of the need to keep breakable creatures safe, and to ensure she got what she needed, and not the other way around. Because it could never be reciprocated. He loved her so deeply that his only recourse had been to create for her a place in his heart as a daughter, where she could not harm him in the same way losing Leah surely had done. Because he would never consider her that way when Leah was there, and because Mercy was married and happy, he would not acknowledge his deeper feelings and make things more difficult for her in that way.

“Oh.” Tristan hadn’t meant to say anything out loud, and still wasn’t sure she was seeing it correctly, but it wasn’t important to her situation so she didn’t bring it up. Bran quirked an eyebrow as Charles spoke through the door.

“Anna should be here in a few minutes and I’ve made some of the food fit in the fridge, but I’m sure there will be more tomorrow. Even without an official statement to the pack, people still had food ready for you today. Come eat something, Da, and maybe Tristan will feel like sharing after she’s eaten too.”

It wasn’t a request so much as a veiled command to Tristan and a plea for Bran to leave the room so Charles could better gauge the situation and hopefully not have to damage any of the house his Da had built should something happen.

Bran turned toward the door and opened it, gesturing for Tristan to go ahead of him into the kitchen. She shook her head once, and pursed her lips before saying, “If it’s all the same, I’d like to change first. I didn’t think before I called my brother, and I lose track of time when I have him on the phone.”

Bran nodded mutely and stepped out, shutting the door on her and leaving her to her own devices for a time. She moved to the drawers and began unpacking them and making her bags ready to leave, as soon as she was sure no one would follow. She had no doubt that Charles and Bran could hear her doing so, while also picking out new, unsoiled clothing to wear as she was once again interrogated and questioned, this time on what she knew about Kayden. At least that was what she expected it to be about, anyway.

Once everything was packed (even the snow dampened clothes, stowed in a plastic bag to keep it from turning everything mildewed and trash worthy) Tristan readied herself mentally. Even with Anna tempering the situation, she was almost certain that she would be expected to stay for the services for Leah, even though she had no loyalty or reason to stay. She would not leave and cause everyone who was not there to believe her the sole cause of Leah’s demise. She would not give herself more targets on her back if she could help it, the one Kayden aimed for was more than enough.

Tristan left the small bedroom and walked through the house to the kitchen. Anna was already seated next to Charles, a somber expression on her face and a hand on his knee to comfort him despite the apparent lack of relationship he and Leah had shared in view of Tristan. Bran was seated beside his son at the head of the table and there was a myriad of food set out on the counter. She was almost curious what could be taking up that much room in the fridge and decided she would rather not know. 

While she gathered a plateful of food from different dishes and something to drink, she contemplated where to sit. There was plenty of room at the table, despite everyone being crowded to one side, and she decided sitting across from Anna would be the best option. Not separate from the group entirely, but not as entrenched and involved as a member of the pack or family might be. Involved by proxy. Because it was her fault that a madman had found her and killed Leah who defended her for whatever the reason may be. Her fault she was burnt to nothing but ash on the side of a mountain she had called home for who knows how many years. Her fault that....her breathing became shallow and quick, as a panic attacked pressed against her like a long forgotten ache. Maybe she wasn’t ready to leave after all. But she couldn’t justify staying and endangering all of the people who lived here and called these mountains home.

A chair slid out in front of her, beside Bran. A silent command to sit and gather herself without repercussions. Tristan hastily set down her plate and cup, scrambling into the chair and folding her hands in her lap like a child being disciplined. She had hoped she’d learned more from the many different counselors she had seen in many different states. There were plenty of resources and she tried her best to keep these emotions in check and from overtaking her but the events of the day seemed to push her past her limits, and she admitted to herself silently, they weren’t quite what they had been before, when her coping skills were less than ideal.

“Take a moment and settle yourself, then try to eat. I’m going to tell you a story that not many have heard, though rumors of it still live, despite my better judgement,” Bran told her, cutting into some food and stabbing it with his fork. “My mother, for all that she was able to raise children at all, was a witch.”

Tristan sat and listened as Bran painted her the picture of his life, and a very long life it had been. She measured her breathing to match Anna’s as best she could, and noticed even Anna perked up and listened to some of the tale, pieces she was sure Anna hadn’t heard before now. Charles’s stoic face changed only once or twice at information he either hadn’t asked about out of courtesy or was never told. Bran told her about being witchborn, and the journey of his mortal life, the life of his only surviving child at the time, and how he had fallen into darkness. At that point his voice changed just enough that Charles and Anna took notice, and sat up straighter, both more familiar with this side than any other members of the pack, except for Samuel. 

Neither one made much movement, but Tristan finally felt the urge to eat and began by sipping on her drink first. Bran watched her movements, steady and precise as he talked about the darkest time in his existence when all he craved was bloodshed and horror, when a beast controlled him instead of the other way around. When he had broken the bonds that had made him into what he believed he always would be, a monster.

Tristan waited until Bran began to move past the dark days of his past, and into a more heart wrenching story about Charles’s mother, and the miracle that was his second son. The only werewolf in existence who was born and not bitten, but the price for which was too high, even if it wasn’t possible to recreate. Tristan began to eat sometime between the two stories of Bran’s life and listened to anecdotes about Mercy, and many of the tales Mercy herself was loath to admit to without prodding from Adam. In these stories, Bran seemed better, and even when it painted him in an unflattering light (how could he do such a thing in front of a child, reprimand her suffering and dying foster parent over an outfit because it wasn’t appropriate despite lack of time or ability to launder her clothes herself?) Bran told them with passion and adoration clear in his tone and expressions. Perhaps Tristan had been wrong about her earlier assumptions. Maybe it was only a fatherly affection he had for her, and not something more.She paid it no mind and listened on, finishing her food and drink as Anna, and even Charles added their own stories and adventures with Mercy to the mix.

When the tales drew to a close she smiled softly to herself and gathered up her plate and cup and brought them to the sink, returning for everyone else’s, if they were finished. Only Anna handed over her plate and utensils, retaining her cup while Charles and Bran both got up for more food. Tristan sat back down, lamenting her inability to choose a different seat after accepting Bran’s offer of the open seat and waited for the men to return to the table. She was sure, tomorrow, or whenever the services were held for Leah, there would be plenty of stories to listen to, and plenty to learn about her then as well.

“It appears that we are giving each other the stories of our lives. Given that you’ve been generous in yours, I should give you all mine as well,” Tristan said after Bran and Charles had seated themselves again and began to eat their food. Anna was rapt with attention to learn about her, even if she seemed wary because of Charles own perception of Tristan.

“I know that between the two of you,” Tristan said, pointing between Charles and Bran briefly. “You have the basic information. Who I was, where I went to school, the people I called my family and the friends I associated with. It seems like a lifetime ago that I was that person, and I’ve been running away for ten years. It feels strange to say it outloud like this.”

No one spoke, all listening intently to what Tristan had to say. She continued on after shifting in her seat to make herself more comfortable. 

“I grew up fairly normal, at least compared to the kids I went to school with. Upper middle class in a school populated by children of quasi-millionaires and business tycoons didn’t give me the best of anything, except people to actually make friends with. My brother started a band and I supported him whole-heartedly. We teased each other, fought over who had to do the worst chores, but we still got along really well compared to some of the other kids with siblings we knew. It was a good life,” Tristan continued. She watched for anyone to ask questions but this was the easy part after all.

“What made it something to run from happened my senior year of high school. I had my first real boyfriend and it was a love written in the stars, like most first loves are, I guess. But there was someone who just showed up one day and started talking to my brother. I didn’t like the way he seemed, like the vibes he gave off weren’t normal. I told him to stay away and we didn’t go straight home, but he showed up at the mall during an outing with our friends. He ended up at a couple of shows and tried to get the bouncer to let him backstage to talk to my brother. I knew the bouncer's sister from school and he kept the man out of the back rooms, but that didn’t stop the man from trying harder each time.”

“Kayden,” whispered Anna, horror and disgust abundant in her expression and tone.

“Yes,” Tristan nodded. She continued again when she knew there were no other statements or questions from anyone else. “He came to our house, we didn’t know how he found us, but he managed to. I thought he was trying to give my brother a hard time over all these weeks, but Seth never told me the man was interested in me. My boyfriend was over for dinner, for maybe the second time. My parents still weren’t sure about me having a boyfriend but since I didn’t go boy crazy like most of my friends had, and Seth was dating a member of the band at the same time, they let it slide. I answered the door and for the life of me, I couldn’t have stopped how fast he slid inside and pushed me into the hall table.”

“I got thrown in the hall closet and wasn’t let out until he had staged my family and boyfriend up in our living room. I was dragged out of the closet and saw everyone tied to the kitchen chairs. My mother was screaming and Seth was fighting against the bindings, my boyfriend might have been passed out...but if he wasn’t, I couldn’t be sure. I knew when Kayden was done with him that he didn’t make it.” Tears formed in the corners of Tristan’s eyes, and blinking fast, she continued.

“I had never seen my father so angry, and if Kayden hadn’t used whatever it is he has, I think my father would have tried to kill him. I’m glad he didn’t, because even being responsible for one death is too much to me. I...I still wake up feeling like it happened yesterday. Kayden took me in front of them and marked my stomach with his hand. Then he went through, from my father to my boyfriend and knocked them around a bit. I..heard him snap my boyfriend's neck, so even if he had died before, there was no coming back from that.”

“You are not responsible for the deaths of those around you,” Bran stated calmly. “It is a burden to be so engrossed in your own guilt and fault that you see nothing else, but you did not cause that boy's death, unfortunate as it was.”

Tristan only nodded and stayed silent. She knew Seth felt the same, and so did her parents. It didn’t change that she had cut someone’s life short, simply by associating with them. She didn’t get close to people for that reason. 

“I have no idea what happened to Kayden that he stopped his tirade, but after a neighbor heard my mother screaming they called the cops. It was a mess of a time, and my leaving didn’t make anything better. But I didn’t want Kayden to come back and use my family to coerce me into something. To be bargaining chips to get to me. I took the money I had gotten for graduation and bought a bus ticket and headed to the coast. I made plenty of mistakes along the way, and every job I had was just a means to getting further away. I’ve been across the country so many times I can’t even decide if traveling is more like home than wherever I settle for a time. I got lucky, running into Mercy and getting my car fixed up a few years ago, and when I came back up this way, her life had changed quite a bit too. But she was a godsend, and I hate knowing I made her life difficult just asking for help getting away from my own problems,” Tristan spoke quietly, drawing into herself and feeling even more responsibility for the woes of her helpers than she had felt prior.

“You are only responsible for a small part in the masterpiece that is her life,” Charles countered. He didn’t say any more than that, and left explanations, if there were any to be found, up to Bran and Anna.

“You absolutely aren’t responsible for her life. She’s an adult and she can make her own decisions, though her parentage may have more to do with her life being in constant chaos than anything you could have brought to her door,” Anna offered. She shot Tristan a rather cheerful smile considering the circumstances, and patted Charles leg before she spoke again.

“My husband can be rather cryptic, but Mercy has a lot more going on in her life than the average person, or the average werewolf would have to deal with. You probably just add a little more flair, which she can handle.”

At that, Tristan chuckled slightly and looked at Anna.

“Thank you, for that. I had noticed that her life did seem to be on the edge of upheaval when I rolled into the garage the first time. But I didn’t quite expect it to get as interesting as it has appeared from the outside,” Tristan responded.

Charles quirked a single eyebrow and met Anna’s warm stare and she burst into a fit of giggles, causing Tristan to eventually do the same. When they were both heaving and gasping for air, they were brought back to the reality the brevity had relieved them of.

“Perhaps,” Bran started. “We should consider getting some rest. It’s been a long day and there is another one to get through tomorrow.” Anna and Tristan settled themselves, both knowing he was right and that there would be time for learning later, after mourning for the pack as a whole could take place. As everyone pulled their chairs back to stand, Tristan made her way to the sink and began to wash the dishes, putting them in the drainer beside the sink and working on the next set that came from Charles and Bran’s finished remains. 

Charles corralled Anna toward the guest room they would be using while furtively shooting glances at Bran, trying to get him to go to bed as well. Tristan finished and dried her hands before turning to see Bran leaning, calm and put together as ever, against the table. He was watching her. She had known he was, but while under Charles’s watchful gaze, she hadn’t felt threatened. Now she couldn’t be so sure.

“You didn’t tell us how you found out about your powers.”

Tristan stared blankly at him before responding. “It kind of came upon me when I didn’t die from third degree burns. The EMT’s were so disbelieving they wanted to take me to the hospital to check that I didn’t have internal damage. If it weren’t for my father’s insistence I wouldn't have gone, it would have left them vulnerable and surrounded by innocent bystanders. All the machines could find was that I was functioning normally, and would have some scarring. They didn’t know how much or if it would look so ugly,” Tristan spouted, lifting her shirt to show him the angry red mark across her abdomen, pink and looking as fresh as if it had happened a few weeks ago.

“You think it was instinctive, that you could heal yourself?”

“I don’t know what to think. I feel better the closer I am to any kind of water, and for growing up in the desert of California, I actually prefer the snow.” She hadn’t meant to admit that last part, but she had felt more connected to whatever gave her the ability to manipulate water, since coming to Aspen Creek. She couldn’t tell if it mattered or not, because the sea worked just as well as a freshwater stream or lake, but the snow and the ice, while daunting to drive in, felt like home.

“I see,” Bran said, still leaning against the table as though he were modeling for Armani instead of the king of the werewolves. Tristan dropped her shirt and shrugged.

“See whatever you like, if you don’t have any answers or ideas for me - when it’s convenient for you, and I am no longer a suspect like I feel I am - I’ll pack the rest of my things and find another place to be,” she said, walking past him toward the room she was using. She could feel Bran following her, so she didn’t run, just measured her steps until she was opening the door. Prey behavior only made it more likely she would trigger something, so she acted as if she didn’t notice.

Before she could step inside and close the door she felt an arm around her waist pulling her back. For a brief moment she was right back where she started, in her own living room, watching Kayden beat her family and kill someone she thought she had loved. A blink and she was back in Montana, breathing deeply while facing the man she had been sent to in hopes of answers.

“I think you should stay, until we find some answers. Whatever you did today, you dealt damage Kayden was not expecting.” A flash of gold passed over the hazel eyes she had been struggling not to meet, and Bran began speaking again. “You confuse me. You fight for things, just like Mercedes, but you fear your own power so much that you have made yourself the very prey you do not wish to be. You have more strength than I expected, and I am interested in learning your story as much as you can tell it. You will still be a guest here, and no one will accuse you of murdering my wife. Come talk with me, and we can discover where we need to begin.”

Tristan stepped back, into the room, and nodded. She slowly closed the door while Bran stood there, still watching her movements like the predator she had forgotten he could be.

.::.

Tristan slept fitfully and awoke in the early hours of the morning. She couldn’t hear anyone else up, but that didn’t mean much. She didn’t have incredible hearing like the rest of those she was currently housed with. It was just as well. She wasn’t sure if meeting anyone at this hour would be a hindrance or a help, especially depending on who that person may be.

Tristan crawled out of bed, pajama pants sliding along the floor as she grabbed a hoodie and folded the sheets and blankets up over the bed. Sitting in the center of the bed, back toward the wall, she practiced breathing and meditation. She wasn’t consistent enough in her practice to get anything more than the settling of her emotions, and after the previous day and a night that wasn’t restful, they were more heightened than usual. 

When she had been breathing deeply enough that she felt the swell of calm overcome the other emotions, she opened her eyes and her hands. Focusing on the center of her hands, she pulled on the power she controlled and brought forth water in a small sphere. Water swirled and moved from one hand to the other, shaping itself into different images. A sphere, an arrow, a flower, a poorly shaped guitar miniature. Tristan settled on trying to make a flower, and solidifying it into ice. A daisy would be good practice.

Tristan scrunched her face in concentration, keeping her breathing even and pushing her will into the creation of this flower. Her eyes closed as she conjured the image she wanted to recreate into a life-like shape. A clear spring day in the middle of Central Park, one of the few places she had really enjoyed visiting on the East Coast.

Fixing the image in her mind's eye, Tristan felt the change from moving liquid to a solid form of ice. Slowly she opened her eyes, and looked at the flower in her hand, almost exactly the same as the day she had picked it, and noticed the door open with a figure standing in the door frame. Bran regards her with mild interest before speaking.

“Impressive, the process you seem to go through. Do you meditate often?”

Tristan shakes her head, dissolving the flower in her hands into water and trying to keep her hold long enough to disperse it without drenching her pajamas. Her eyes widen as she slowly lets the water disappear, watching Bran as he stands in between her and a possible exit. She inhales slowly, trying to measure her breath and keep her heart from trying to force its way out of her chest. The panic of having the door blocked puts her in Ebbs while she breathes deeply.

“Why don’t we make some food for everyone, while we’re up this early. I’ll get a pot of coffee started,” Bran says casually as he backs out of the doorway. Tristan’s heart slows to a reasonable pace, and she nods as she pulls herself up off the bed, and walks cautiously toward the edge of the room. She isn’t sure if she saw anything in Bran’s eyes as he spoke, but she hadn’t paid attention, hoping instead he would leave her to her own devices. Two more deep breaths and she has the door closed behind her and is walking toward the kitchen. She isn’t sure this is the best idea, but feels that going back to bed isn’t in her future. 

Tristan follows Bran into the kitchen and looks into the fridge at the Tetris game Charles has made of the fridge. At least there will be a challenge that can distract her from the glances Bran keeps shooting her direction. Tristan isn’t sure, but it seems as though he wants to see her reactions, gauge her ability to control her emotions in stressful situations. That would be a useful tool and in thinking of it that way, makes it much easier to deal with throughout the rest of the morning, and the day ahead of them.

.::.

Breakfast was early and had Charles emerging with Anna, flustered and looking for potential threats before the services to be held that afternoon. The early hour hadn’t helped matters much either, and Tristan did her best to keep calm and level headed instead of trying to run again.

The rest of the morning was spent with Tristan, Anna, and Charles packing Leah’s clothes away for donation in a neighboring town. No one in Aspen Creek would want to wear them, even if they admired her sense of style and the designer tags. Other items were set to the side of the separate bedroom (Tristan had been surprised at that) for others to go through after the service and wake to be held in the house afterward. Only pack would attend the wake, which made it even more likely for Tristan to want to stay in her room or find somewhere else to be.

Bran stopped outside the room several times, watching their progress and seeming to want to talk, but choosing to stay out of his dead mate’s room. Tristan wasn’t sure what was going through his mind and could only imagine how difficult it was to smell her there, on the clothes and in the hallways, on the furniture in the common space that she frequented. It would have driven her mad and pushed her to leave the house until all traces had been removed were she in the same position.

.::.

The day was long, and before Tristan could escape to her room after returning to the home Bran and Leah had shared after the memorial service, Bran caught her arm and propelled her toward his office down the hallway away from the living room. She had sat through the service, through people’s stories about Leah upon returning here, had even eaten more of the food that had been brought over and would undoubtedly be more than Bran and even Charles and Anna could finish in a week.

Once they were both through the door, he closed it silently and leaned against it, a weary look upon his face. Tristan stepped back slightly and gave him space. She understood how overwhelming it could be to be expected to be present and aware, and engaged, especially after losing someone. Bran took a breath and walked toward his desk, trusting that a closed door would keep most people out that needed to be kept out, when his disappearance was finally noticed.

“Need a break?” Tristan asked in a spritely tone, displaying more energy than she felt. She walked to the other side of the desk and sat in the chair opposite of Bran’s, trying to read his features and understand why she was here instead of in her own separate space.

Bran nodded, placing his hand over his eyes and pinching his nose in a fashion that was becoming more familiar to Tristan the longer she stayed here. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, that she was more familiar with Bran’s reactions than she had been when she first arrived.

Tristan sat, watching Bran until he looked up at her. His eyes were still hazel, but they were lightening just so, and Tristan didn’t think it was a good idea to be cooped up in a small office with a werewolf potentially on the verge of losing control. Before she could get up Bran met her eyes, his own darkening to their usual shade just before answering the rise in her heart rate.

“You don’t need to panic, at least not just yet. Today has taken a toll on me, and in the given situation, I feel justified in stepping back for a moment. Without Leah here, everything is more tiresome than I am used to.”

Tristan wasn’t sure how to respond so she only tilted her head as if she were nodding and continued to watch him from the corner of her eye as she took great interest in the pattern of the wooden desk that separated them. Bran took a few moments more to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“Thank you,” he said. “You somehow keep me from feeling in the middle of everything. I wouldn’t have expected that, considering the start of our interactions.”

“Neither would I.” Tristan responded. She wondered why Bran felt that way.

“Do you think it has something to do with nearly killing each other?” she asked.

Tristan had meant it as a serious question, being sure they had gotten close to ending each other's lives the day before. Bran burst into laughter, eyes sparkling at her while she sat, confused and unsure of why Bran found it funny.

“I suppose that does make for an unusual bonding experience. Tristan, I haven’t felt this unable to control myself in such a long time.”

Tristan shifted, uncomfortable in the seat as she sorted out how to respond.

“It is unusual, but trauma bonding isn’t exactly on my list of ‘to-do’s’ in my life right now.”

Bran’s eyes sparkled with restrained humor as he inclined his head toward Tristan. He could understand how alarming his words could be to someone with such a difficult past. 

“You are correct, bonding over trauma isn’t something that should be sought out. Forgive me, it’s been so long since I’ve needed to play by the rules of human etiquette. Trauma is sometimes the only thing werewolves are capable of bonding over, as it is a traumatic shift of events that creates us,” Bran said, eyes still watching Tristan for her physical reactions.

“I appreciate the effort,” Tristan began. “I know that you believe Mercy over me and I’m grateful that her opinion holds so much sway with you. She has been an incredible friend to me and if she had any other direction to send me, I’m sure she would have tried that first." Tristan said.

“Trauma is a large part of my adult life, and as much as I wish it weren’t I can’t change the facts. Thank you, for being willing to discover my limits and what I am capable of in the interest of protecting your own and helping me to gain confidence and power to overcome my own demons,” she adds.

Bran meets Tristan’s eyes, gaze piercing through her whole being it seems. Unflinchingly she stares right back, daring Bran to impose his sense of order to the situation, or to at least set the boundaries for the coming conversation.

“Be careful what you speak into existence. You may not want to thank me, just yet,” he responds. His chiding tone and the slight upturn of the corner of his mouth indicate, just enough that Tristan is in no immediate danger and she’s managed to amuse Bran yet again with her infallible ability to be insightfully dense.

“So why did you drag me along into your fortress of solitude?”

Bran regarded her with mild interest before choosing to respond.

“Yesterday broke me. It accomplished something I was afraid to uncover and surprised me more than anything. Yesterday should have ended my history, but here I sit. Because of you,” he added as his eyes locked on to Tristan’s across the desk.

Tristan stared back, exasperated. Blinking to clear her thoughts, she turned to the fireplace before asking, “Me? Why?”

“I couldn’t begin to tell you,” Bran answered. The honesty in his tone scared Tristan more than the words themselves did.

“So, your saying, for some unknown reason tied to my being here, you aren’t dead or rampaging the world over?” Tristan clarified.

“That’s correct,” Bran said, smiling slightly at the building confusion apparent on Tristan’s face.

A blush crawled up her cheeks, tinting them as she turned her face further from Bran’s scrutiny. There was really no need to read into the situation, but it did make her wonder. If Leah had been the only one keeping Bran from becoming the beast of his past, what was holding him in check now?

“Tristan?”

She turned to face Bran and found him sitting on the desk directly in front of her. She hadn’t heard a sound as he’d moved from the seat to his perch within a handbreadth of where Tristan sat. She plastered herself to the back of the chair, unsure of the turn of events.

“Bran?” Tristan asked, worry and confusion warring emotions on her face and in her tone. “Was there something else?”

“You are incredibly vexing. You don’t fit into any of the neat boxes the majority of my life is categorized in. You can’t be easily controlled, but to manipulate you I would only need to find the people you care about most. But you are so pure, so innocent of the same kinds of evil that plague me. Why should I be so fixated by you?”

Tristan didn’t feel like he was actually asking for answers but his words made her more anxious just the same. Did Bran even know what he was saying? Certainly he could tell how unusual he was being, above and beyond what Tristan believed was normal for werewolves. Couldn't he hear how fast her heart was hammering in her chest? Like a trapped thing trying to break free, from fear or excitement, she wasn’t sure which.

“Am I scaring you, Tristan?” Bran pulled her attention toward himself, reaching down and tilting her face upward to meet his eyes.

Unable to move out of Bran’s grasp, Tristan responded.

“Maybe? I’m not sure. I-This isn’t something I think I was prepared for. Shouldn’t you th-”

Bran placed a finger to Tristan’s lips, silencing the words she was going to say.

“I’ve already thought about each of these points, Tristan. I can’t be any more sure that you were put in my path for a reason. As much to discover what you are capable of, so too, could you be here to show me the same.”

A gasp escaped Tristan’s lips while Bran’s thumb ran across them, tracing their outline. His eyes brightened and darkened in color momentarily, while he thought over something. When he met Tristan’s gaze again, his eyes were a clear hazel, bright and full of some emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Bran. I-I think that we should take a moment to go over some boundaries, maybe?” Tristan squeaked, knocking over the chair and falling back with it to the floor. Before she could stand herself up Bran was there, a hand on her elbow balancing her as he helped to her feet. Tristan tried to back away but Bran held her firmly.

“Don’t run,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a wise choice.”

Tristan stared at Bran, letting her body become still and stiff. Fear crept up her spine along with a sensation she hadn’t anticipated. Months had passed since she had last entertained the thought of being with someone, and this was the most inappropriate time and place to be considering such a thing. What else could Bran’s actions mean?

“Did you plan this?” she asked Bran. Their eyes met in a tense battle of wills before he conceded his answer.

“No. I was rather taken by surprise myself.” Bran turned his face from Tristan, as if ashamed. “I felt there was something different about you and your situation, but I had much more on my plate that took precedence. I am not someone to stray, and I hadn’t realized that it could become...what it appears to have become.”

“Oh.”

Bran met Tristan’s eyes briefly again and put a hand to her cheek. The blush returned and spread over her entire face and down her neck.

“I don’t know what to say, I don’t have much experience and it’s all overshadowed by violence. I suppose that might fit right in here, but I hardly know you, Bran. I don’t even know exactly what you’re asking," Tristan rambled. 

“Too much, I’m sure,” Bran responded, dropping his hand from Tristan’s face and righting the chair. “You don’t have to accept, in fact you don’t even have to have an answer at all, yet. Despite the friction and my wolf’s desire for your blood, he thinks you could help with my control. It is a large role to fill, and there would be an incredible learning curve. He’s chosen you, Tristan. I can’t determine when, or the why or how of it.”

“As your mate?” Tristan stumbled over the word and struggled to keep her tone from betraying the nervousness that was apparent in her erratic breathing and heart rate. Incredulous and disbelieving, she pressed on.

“Even after wanting to kill me, you’re sure?”

Bran nodded slowly, giving Tristan time to take in what he was saying. To form an answer or a denial. She stood rooted to the same spot he had left her, rigid and confused. A picture of near innocence with widened eyes, cheeks tinted violent pink, nostrils flaring in her desperation for more oxygen. It drove Bran wild with his own confusion, amongst other things.

“Think about it for a while,” Bran stated. He walked back to where Tristan stood, and took care to move slowly so she could make the decision. In front of her, eyes full of wonder and a healthy dose of fright, she watched as Bran drew closer to her, lifting her chin to give himself better access.

“Feel free to stop me at any time,” he reminded her. Tristan only nodded, not speaking with an affirmative or negative. Bran leaned closer, inches shrinking between them. His lips brushed across hers softly, only for a short moment. Tristan closed her eyes, lost in the spell of the moment, unsure if she was intoxicated by the illusion of choice or truly enticed by the idea of becoming something more than she had been, being important to someone other than her family and friends.

Electricity jolted through her body, eliciting responses she hadn't expected. Without thinking Tristan leaned forward, catching Bran by surprise. A breath escaped his lips before Tristan's came crashing into them, a deeper kiss on the forefront of her mind. Bran's lips quirked up in a confused grin as Tristan worked to create a response from him as well, pushing against him now rather than standing still and confused at the center of the room. 

Bran rested his hands on her shoulders, putting some force into it when Tristan's body seemed more inclined to be in control than her mind. As they separated, Bran kept his eyes closed so she couldn't see the wild light of the wolf in them. He hadn't expected her to react that way, and began questioning his judgment as well as her last physical interactions with people. Perhaps that was something he had overlooked and should remedy. 

As Tristan settled into a calmer state her eyes grew wide in embarrassment. The scent of her arousal faded as the mixed scented of her frustration and embarrassed confusion permeated the small space that now felt suffocating to Bran. He stepped back to give her the opportunity to choose what took place next. Likely she would choose to think over her actions as well as his own, privately.

The blush that tinted her cheeks grew deeper in color. Tristan turned away mouthing 'oh my God what is wrong with me, I'm so sorry!' instead of actually speaking the words. Her hands flew to cover her face and she backed up a step toward the chair before slowly looking up to meet Bran's curious gaze. 

"I-I should leave you to it, I mean. This wasn't..I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, rushing to the door and pulling it open. She turned to look over her shoulder, pink still tinged on her cheeks, before slipping through the door and down the hallway to her separate room. 

Bran drew in a deep breath and let Tristan's scent wash over him. It mingled with the scents of other wolves and food and cleaning products. Soon enough it was as if she hadn't been in the same room together with him at all. He walked back to his desk and sat down, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, contemplating. I hope you know what you're doing, wolf. She seems much more fragile than should be possible. More fragile even than Mercedes...and yet the strength she has she isn't even aware of.

He shook his head and listened to the raucous crowd giving the best stories if his dead mate. Painting her in the best light, even with some stories that might lean toward one side or another of her rigid personality. He smiled and waited for the wolves to dispere and Charles to find him alone in his office. Just as it should be, at least, for now.


End file.
